/6/ 


BELLA  DONNA 


FIFTH    EDITION 


Bella  Donna 


A  NOVEL 


By  ROBERT  HICHENS 

Author  of  "The  Call  of  The  Blood,"    **The  Fruitful 
Vine,"  **A  Spirit  in  Prison." 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY  '-• 
Publishers  New  York 


/  1079^ 


OOPTRIGHT,  19l5S 
^  J.  B    LiPPINCOTT  (DOMPASW 


ftioiisncd  October.  CO* 


BELLA  DONNA 


Doctor  Meyer  Isaacson  had  got  on  as  only  a  modern 
Jew  whose  home  is  London  can  get  on,  with  a  rapidity  that 
was  alarming.  He  seemed  to  have  arrived  as  a  bullet 
arrives  in  a  body.  He  was  not  in  the  heart  of  success,  and 
lo !  he  was  in  the  heart  of  success.  And  no  one  had  marked 
his  journey.  Suddenly  every  one  was  speaking  of  him — was 
talking  of  the  cures  he  had  made,  was  advising  every  one 
else  to  go  to  him.  For  some  mysterious  reason  his  name — 
a  name  not  easily  to  be  forgotten  once  it  had  been  heard — • 
began  to  pervade  the  conversations  that  were  held  in  the 
smart  drawing-rooms  of  London.  Women  who  were  well, 
but  had  not  seen  him,  abruptly  became  sufficiently  unwell 
to  need  a  consultation.  ''Where  does  he  live?  In  Harley 
Street,  I  suppose?"  was  a  constant  question. 

But  he  did  not  live  in  Harley  Street.  He  was  not  the 
man  to  lose  himself  in  an  avenue  of  brass  plates  of  fellow 
practitioners.  '*  Cleveland  Square,  St.  Jameses,*'  was  the 
startling  reply;  and  his  house  was  detached,  if  you  please, 
and  marvellously  furnished. 

The  winged  legend  flew  that  he  was  rich,  and  that  he 
had  gone  into  practice  as  a  doctor  merely  because  he  was 
intellectually  interested  in  disease.  Kis  gift  f or 'dl&:gnosis 
was  so  remarkable  that  he  was  morally  forced  to  exercise 
it.  And  he  had  a  greedy  passion  tor-  studyiE^^  hnb:(a'nit.y. 
And  who  has  such  opportunities  lor  the  study  of  humanity 
as  the  doctor  and  the  priest?  Patients  who  had  been  to 
him  spoke  enthusiastically  of  his  observant  eyes.  His  per- 
sonality always  made  a  great  impression.  ''There's  no  one 
just  like  him,"  was  a  frequent  comment  upon  Doctor 

6^         ^^  • 


€  BELLA  DONNA 

Meyer  Isaacson.  And  that  phrase  is  a  high  compliment 
upon  the  lips  of  London,  the  city  of  parrots  and  of 
monkeys. 

His  age  was  debated,  and  so  was  his  origin.  Most 
people  thought  he  was  ''about  forty";  a  very  safe  age, 
young  enough  to  allow  of  almost  unlimited  expectation,  old 
enough  to  make  results  achieved  not  quite  unnatural, 
though  possibly  startling.  Yes,  he  must  be  "about  forty." 
And  his  origin?  "Meyer"  suggested  Germany.  As  to 
"Isaacson,"  it  allowed  the  ardent  imagination  free  play 
over  denationalized  Israel.  Someone  said  that  he  *  looked 
as  if  he  came  from  the  East,"  to  which  a  cynic  made 
answer,  "The  East  End."  There  was,  perhaps,  a  hint  of 
both  in  the  Doctor  of  Cleveland  Square.  Certain  it  is  that 
in  the  course  of  a  walk  down  Brick  Lane,  or  the  adjacent 
thoroughfares,  one  will  encounter  men  of  his  type;  men 
of  middle  height,  of  slight  build,  with  thick,  close-growing; 
hair  strongly  curling,  boldly  curving  lips,  large  nostrils, 
prominent  cheek-bones,  dark  eyes  almost  fiercely  shining; 
men  who  are  startlingly  un-English.  Doctor  Meyer  Isaac- 
son was  like  these  men.  Yet  he  possessed  something  which 
set  him  apart  from  them.  He  looked  intensely  vital — almost 
unnaturally  vital — when  he  was  surrounded  by  English 
people,  but  he  did  not  look  fierce  and  hungry.  One  could 
conceive  of  him  doing  something  bizarre,  but  one  could  not 
conceive  of  him  doing  anything  low.  There  was  sometimes 
a  light  in  his  eyes  which  suggested  a  moral  distinction 
rarely  to  be  found  in  those  who  dwell  in  and  about  Brick 
Lane.  His  slight,  nervous  hands,  dark  in  colour,  recalled 
the  hands  of  high-bred  Egyptians.  Like  so  many  of  his 
natioli;  fie  was.'Tt^;  I^atiH*e  artistic.  An  instinctive  love  of 
wjiat  was , best 'in 'tlie"  creations  of  man  ran  in  his  veins  with 
l/ij*Mp,'6Ji;.:H§  eared:  fo5C  beautiful  things,  and  he  knew  what 
things  were  beautiful  and  what  were  not.  The  second-rate 
never  made  any  appeal  to  him.  The  first-rate  found  in 
him  a  welcoming  enthusiast.  He  never  wearied  of  looking 
at  fine  pictures,  at  noble  statues,  at  bronzes,  at  old  jewelled 
glass,  at  delicate  carvings,  at  perfect  jewels.    He  was  gen- 


BELLA  DONNA  7 

iiinely  moved  by  great  architecture.  And  to  music  he  was 
almost  fanatically  devoted,  as  are  many  Jews. 

It  has  been  said  of  the  Jew  that  he  is  nearly  always 
possessed  of  a  streak  of  femininity,  not  effeminacy.  In 
Doctor  Meyer  Isaacson  this  streak  certainly  existed.  His 
intuitions  were  feminine  in  their  quickness,  his  sympa- 
thies and  his  antipathies  almost  feminine  in  their  ardour. 
He  understood  women  instinctively,  as  generally  only 
other  women  understand  them.  Often  he  knew,  without 
knowing  why  he  knew.  Such  knowledge  of  women  is, 
perhaps  fortunately,  rare  in  men.  Where  most  men  stumble 
in  the  dark.  Doctor  Meyer  Isaacson  walked  in  the  light.  He 
was  unmarried. 

Bachelorhood  is  considered  by  many  to  detract  from  a 
doctor 's  value  and  to  stand  in  the  way  of  his  career.  Doctor 
Meyer  Isaacson  did  not  find  this  so.  Although  he  was  not 
a  nerve  specialist,  his  waiting-room  was  always  full  of 
patients.  If  he  had  been  married,  it  could  not  have  been 
fuller.  Indeed,  he  often  thought  it  would  have  been  less 
full. 

Suddenly  he  became  the  fashion,  and  he  went  on  being 
the  fashion. 

He  had  no  special  peculiarity  of  manner.  He  did  not 
attract  the  world  of  women  by  elaborate  brutalities,  or 
charm  it  by  silly  suavities.  He  seemed  always  very  natural, 
intelligent,  alive,  and  thoroughly  interested  in  the  person 
with  whom  he  was.  That  he  was  a  man  of  the  world  was 
certain.  He  was  seen  often  at  concerts,  at  the  opera,  at 
dinners,  at  receptions,  occasionally  even  at  a  great  ball. 

Early  in  the  morning  he  rode  in  the  Park.  Once  a 
week  he  gave  a  dinner  in  Cleveland  Square.  And  people 
liked  to  go  to  his  house.  They  knew  they  would  not  be 
bored  and  not  be  poisoned  there.  Men  appreciated  him  as 
well  as  women,  despite  the  reminiscence  of  Brick  Lane  dis- 
coverable in  him.  His  directness,  his  cleverness,  and  his 
apparent  good- will  soon  overcame  any  dawning  instinct 
summoned  up  in  John  Bull  by  his  exotic  appearance. 

Only  the  unyielding  Jew-hater  hated  him.    And  so  the 


8  BELLA  DONNA 

lines  of  the  life  of  Doctor  Meyer  Isaacson  seemed  laid  in 
pleasant  places.  And  not  a  few  thought  him  one  of  the 
fortunate  of  this  world. 

One  morning  of  June  the  doctor  was  returning  to 
Cleveland  Square  from  his  early  ride  in  the  Park.  He 
was  alone.  The  lively  bay  horse  he  rode — an  animal  that 
seemed  almost  as  full  of  nervous  vitality  as  he  was — had 
had  a  good  gallop  by  the  Serpentine,  and  now  trotted  gently 
towards  Buckingham  Palace,  snuffing  in  the  languid  air 
through  its  sensitive  nostrils.  The  day  was  going  to  be 
hot.  This  fact  inclined  the  Doctor  to  idleness,  made  him 
suddenly  realize  the  bondage  of  work.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  would  be  in  Cleveland  Square;  and  then,  after  a  bath, 
a  cup  of  coffee,  a  swift  glance  through  the  Times  and 
the  Daily  Mail,  there  would  start  the  procession  that 
until  evening  would  be  passing  steadily  through  his  con* 
suiting-room. 

He  sighed,  and  pulled  in  his  horse  to  a  walk.  To-day  he 
was  reluctant  to  encounter  that  procession. 

And  yet  each  day  it  brought  interest  into  his  life,  this 
procession  of  his  patients. 

Generally  he  was  a  keen  man.  He  had  no  need  to 
feign  an  ardour  that  he  really  felt.  He  had  a  passion  for 
investigation,  and  his  profession  enabled  him  to  gratify  it. 
Very  modern,  as  a  rule,  were  those  who  came  to  him,  one 
by  one,  admitted  each  in  turn  by  his  Jewish  man-servant; 
complex,  caught  fast  in  the  net  of  civilized  life.  He  liked 
to  sit  alone  with  them  in  his  quiet  chamber,  to  seek  out  the 
hidden  links  which  united  the  physical  to  the  mental  man 
in  each,  to  watch  the  pull  of  soul  on  body,  of  body  on  soul. 
But  to-day  he  recoiled  from  work.  Deep  down  in  his 
nature,  hidden  generally  beneath  his  strong  activity,  there 
was  something  that  longed  to  sit  in  the  sunshine  and 
dream  away  the  hours,  leaving  all  fates  serenely,  or  perhaps 
indifferently,  between  the  hands  of  God. 

"I  will  take  a  holiday  some  day,"  he  said  to  himself,  "a 
long  holiday.  I  will  go  far  away  from  here,  to  the  land 
where  I  am  really  at  home,  where  I  am  in  my  own  place." 


BELLA  DONNA  g 

As  he  thought  this,  he  looked  up,  and  his  eyes  rested 
upon  the  brown  fagade  of  the  King's  Palace,  upon  the 
gilded  railings  that  separated  it  from  the  public  way,  upon 
the  sentries  who  were  on  guard,  fresh-faced,  alert,  staring 
upon  London  with  their  calmly  British  eyes. 

*'In  my  own  place,'*  he  repeated  to  himself. 

And  now  his  lips  and  his  eyes  were  smiling.  And  he 
saw  the  great  drama  of  London  as  something  that  a  school- 
boy could  understand  at  a  glance. 

Was  it  really  idleness  he  longed  for  ?  He  did  not  know 
why,  but  abruptly  his  desire  had  changed.  And  he  found 
himself  wishing  for  events,  tragic,  tremendous,  horrible 
even — anything,  if  they  were  unusual,  were  such  as  to  set 
the  man  who  was  involved  in  them  apart  from  his  fellows. 
The  foreign  element  in  him  woke  up,  called,  perhaps,  from 
repose  by  the  unusually  languid  air,  and  London  seemed 
meaningless  to  him,  a  city  where  a  man  of  his  tjrpe  could 
neither  dream,  nor  act,  with  all  the  languor,  or  all  the 
energy,  that  was  within  him.  And  he  imagined,  as  some- 
times clever  children  do,  a  distant  country  where  all 
romances  unwind  their  shining  coils,  where  he  would  find 
the  incentive  which  he  needed  to  call  all  his  secret  powers — 
the  powers  whose  exercise  would  make  his  life  complete — 
into  supreme  activity. 

He  gripped  his  horse  with  his  knees.  It  understood 
his  desire.  It  broke  into  a  canter.  He  passed  in  front  of 
the  garden  of  Stafford  House,  turned  to  the  left  past 
St.  James's  Palace  and  Marlborough  House,  and  was  soon 
at  his  own  door. 

"Please  bring  up  the  book  with  my  coffee  in  twenty 
minutes,  Henry,"  he  said  to  his  servant,  as  he  went  in. 

In  half  an  hour  he  was  seated  in  an  arm-chair  in  an 
upstairs  sitting-room,  sipping  his  coffee.  The  papers  lay 
folded  at  his  elbow.  Upon  his  knee,  open,  lay  the  book  in 
which  were  written  down  the  names  of  the  patients  with 
whom  he  had  made  appointments  that  day. 

He  looked  at  them,  seeking  for  one  that  promised 
interest.    The  first  patient  was  a  man  who  would  come  in 


JO  BELLA  DONNA 

on  his  way  to  the  city.  Then  followed  the  names  of  three 
women,  then  the  name  of  a  boy.  He  was  coming  with  his 
mother,  a  lady  of  an  anxious  mind.  The  Doctor  had  a 
sheaf  of  letters  from  her.  And  so  the  morning's  task  was 
over.    He  turned  a  page  and  came  to  the  afternoon. 

*'Two  o'clock,  Mrs.  Lesueur;  two-thirty,  Miss  Mendish; 
three,  the  Dean  of  Greystone;  three-thirty,  Lady  Carle; 
four,  Madame  de  Lys;  four-thirty,  Mrs.  Harringby;  five, 
Sir  Henry  Grebe;  five-thirty,  Mrs.  Chepstow." 

The  last  name  was  that  of  the  last  patient.  Doctor 
Meyer  Isaacson's  day's  work  was  over  at  six,  or  was  sup- 
posed to  be  over.  Often,  however,  he  gave  a  patient  more 
than  the  fixed  half-hour,  and  so  prolonged  his  labours.  But 
no  one  was  admitted  to  his  house  for  consultation  after 
the  patient  whose  name  was  against  the  time  of  five-thirty. 

And  so  Mrs.  Chepstow  would  be  the  last  patient  he 
would  see  that  day. 

He  sat  for  a  moment  with  the  book  open  on  his  knee, 
looking  at  her  name. 

It  was  a  name  very  well  known  to  him,  very  well  known 
to  the  English-speaking  world  in  general. 

Mrs.  Chepstow  was  a  great  beauty  in  decline.  Her  day 
of  glory  had  been  fairly  long,  but  now  it  seemed  to  be  over. 
She  was  past  forty.  She  said  she  was  thirty-eight,  but  she 
was  over  forty.  Goodness,  some  say,  keeps  women  fresh. 
Mrs.  Chepstow  had  tried  a  great  many  means  of  keeping 
fresh,  but  she  had  omitted  that.  The  step  between  assthet- 
icism  and  asceticism  was  one  which  she  had  never  taken, 
though  she  had  taken  many  steps,  some  of  them,  unfortu- 
nately, false  ones.  She  had  been  a  well-bom  girl,  the 
daughter  of  aristocratic  but  impecunious  and  extravagant 
parents.  Her  father,  Everard  Pa^e,  a  son  of  Lord  Cheam, 
had  been  very  much  at  home  in  the  Bankruptcy  Court.  Her 
mother,  too,  was  reckless  about  money,  saying,  whenever  it 
was  mentioned,  ** Money  is  given  us  to  spend,  not  to  hoard." 
So  little  did  she  hoard  it,  that  eventually  her  husband  pub- 
lished a  notice  in  the  principal  papers,  stating  that  he 
would  not  be  responsible  for  her  debts.    It  was  a  very  long 


BELLA  DONNA  Til 

time  since  he  had  been  responsible  for  his  own.  Still,  there 
was  a  certain  dignity  in  the  announcement,  as  of  an  honest 
man  frankly  declaring  his  position. 

Mrs.  Chepstow's  life  was  very  possibly  influenced  by 
her  parents'  pecuniary  troubles.  When  she  was  young  she 
learnt  to  be  frightened  of  poverty.  She  had  known  what 
it  was  to  be  ''sold  up"  twice  before  she  was  twenty;  and 
this  probably  led  her  to  prefer  the  alternative  of  being  sold. 
At  any  rate,  when  she  was  in  her  twenty-first  year,  sold  she 
was  to  Mr.  Wodehouse  Chepstow,  a  rich  brewer,  to  whom 
she  had  not  even  taken  a  fancy ;  and  as  Mrs.  Chepstow  she 
made  a  great  fame  in  London  society  as  a  beauty.  She 
was  christened  Bella  Donna.  She  was  photographed,  writ- 
ten about,  worshipped  by  important  people,  until  her 
celebrity  spread  far  over  the  world,  as  the  celebrity  even 
of  a  woman  who  is  only  beautiful  and  Avho  does  nothing 
can  spread  in  the  era  of  the  paragraph. 

And  then  presently  she  was  the  heroine  of  a  great 
divorce  case. 

Mr.  Chepstow,  forgetting  that  among  the  duties  required 
of  the  modern  husband  is  the  faculty  of  turning  a  blind 
eye  upon  the  passing  fancies  of  a  lovely  and  a  generally 
admired  wife,  suddenly  proclaimed  some  ugly  truths,  and 
completely  ruined  Mrs.  Chepstow's  reputation.  He  won 
his  case.  He  got  heavy  damages  out  of  a  well-known 
married  man.  The  married  man's  wife  was  forced  to 
divorce  him.  And  Mrs.  Chepstow  was  socially  *'done  for." 
Then  began  the  new  period  of  her  life,  a  period  utterly 
different  from  all  that  had  preceded  it. 

She  was  at  this  time  only  twenty-six,  and  in  the  zenith 
of  her  beauty.  Every  one  supposed  that  the  man  to  whom 
she  owed  her  ruin  would  marry  her  as  soon  as  it  was  pos- 
sible. Unfortunately,  he  died  before  the  decree  nisi  was 
made  absolute.  Mrs.  Chepstow's  future  had  been  com- 
mitted to  the  Fates,  and  they  had  turned  down  their 
thumbs. 

Notorious,  lovely,  now  badly  off,  still  young,  she  was 
left  to  shift  for  herself  in  the  world. 


12  BELLA  DONNA 

It  was  then  that  there  came  to  the  surface  of  her  char, 
acter  a  trait  that  was  not  beautiful.  She  developed  a  love 
of  money,  a  passion  for  material  things.  This  definite 
greediness  declared  itself  in  her  only  now  that  she  was  poor 
and  solitary.  Probably  it  had  always  existed  in  her,  but 
had  been  hidden.  She  hid  it  no  longer.  She  tacitly  pro- 
claimed it,  and  she  ordered  her  life  so  that  it  might  be 
satisfied. 

And  it  was  satisfied,  or  at  the  least  for  many  years  ap- 
peased. She  became  the  famous,  or  the  infamous,  Mrs.  Chep- 
stow. She  had  no  child  to  be  good  for.  Her  father  waa  dead. 
Her  mother  lived  in  Brussels  with  some  foreign  relations. 
For  her  English  relations  she  took  no  thought.  The  divorce 
case  had  set  them  all  against  her.  She  put  on  the  panoply 
of  steel  so  often  assumed  by  the  woman  who  has  got  into 
trouble.  She  defied  those  who  were  **down  upon  her.*' 
She  had  made  a  failure  of  one  life.  She  resolved  that  she 
would  make  a  success  of  another.  And  for  a  long  time 
she  was  very  successful.  Men  were  at  her  feet,  and  min- 
istered to  her  desires.  She  lived  as  she  seemed  to  desire  to 
live,  magnificently.  She  was  given  more  than  most  good 
women  are  given,  and  she  seemed  to  revel  in  its  possession. 
But  though  she  loved  money,  her  parents'  traits  were  re- 
peated in  her.  She  was  a  spendthrift,  as  they  had  been 
spendthrifts.  She  loved  money  because  she  loved  spending, 
not  hoarding  it.  And  for  years  she  scattered  it  with  both 
hands. 

Then,  as  she  approached  forty,  the  freshness  of  her 
beauty  began  to  fade.  She  had  been  too  well  known,  and 
had  to  endure  the  fate  of  those  who  have  long  been  talked 
about.  Men  said  of  her,  **  Mrs.  Chepstow — oh,  she's  been 
going  a  deuce  of  a  time.  She  must  be  well  over  fifty." 
Women — good  women  especially — pronounced  her  nearer 
sixty.  Almost  suddenly,  as  often  happens  in  such  cases  as 
hers,  the  roseate  hue  faded  from  her  life  and  a  greyness 
began  to  fall  over  it. 

She  was  seen  about  with  very  young  men,  almost  boys. 
People  sneered  when  they  spoke  of  her.    It  was  said  that 


BELLA  DONNA  13 

she  was  not  so  well  off  as  she  had  been.  Some  shoddy 
millionaire  had  put  her  into  a  speculation.  It  had  gone 
wrong,  and  he  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  pay  up  her 
losses.  She  moved  from  her  house  in  Park  Lane  to  a  flat  in 
Victoria  Street,  then  to  a  little  house  in  Kensington.  Then 
she  gave  that  up,  and  took  a  small  place  in  the  country,  and 
motored  up  and  down,  to  and  from  town.  Then  she  got 
sick  of  that,  and  went  to  live  in  a  London  hotel.  She  sold 
her  yacht.    She  sold  a  quantity  of  diamonds. 

2ind  people  continued  to  say,  *'Mrs.  Chepstow — oh,  she 
must  be  well  over  fifty." 

Undoubtedly  she  was  face  to  face  with  a  very  bad 
period.  With  every  month  that  passed,  loneliness  stared 
at  her  more  fixedly,  looked  at  her  in  the  eyes  till  she 
began  to  feel  almost  dazed,  almost  hypnotized.  A  dulness 
crept  over  her. 

Forty  struck — forty-one — forty-two. 

And  then,  one  morning  of  June,  Doctor  Meyer  Isaacson 
sat  sipping  his  coffee  and  looking  'at  her  name,  written 
against  the  time,  five-thirty,  in  his  book  of  consultations. 


II 

Doctor  Meter  Isaacson  did  not  know  Mrs.  Chepstow 
personally,  but  he  had  seen  her  occasionally,  at  supper  in 
smart  restaurants,  at  first  nights,  riding  in  the  Park.  Now, 
as  he  looked  at  her  name,  he  realized  that  he  had  not  even 
seen  her  for  a  long  time,  perhaps  for  a  couple  of  years. 
He  had  heard  the  rumours  of  her  decadence,  and  taken  little 
heed  of  them,  not  being  specially  interested  in  her.  Never- 
theless, this  morning,  as  he  shut  up  his  book  and  got  up  to 
go  downstairs  to  his  work,  he  was  aware  of  a  desire  to 
hear  the  clock  strike  the  half -hour  after  five,  and  to  see 
Henry  opening  the  door  to  show  Mrs.  Chepstow  into  his 
consulting-room.  A  woman  who  had  lived  her  life  and  won 
her  renown — or  infamy — could  scarcely  be  uninteresting. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  he  was  several  times  conscious  of  a 


14  BELLA  DONNA 

wish  to  quicken  the  passing  of  its  moments,  and  when  Sir 
Henry  Grebe,  the  penultimate  patient,  proved  to  be  an 
elderly  malade  imaginaire  of  dilatory  habit,  involved 
speech,  and  determined  misery,  he  was  obliged  firmly  to 
check  a  rising  desire  to  write  a  hasty  bread-pill  prescription 
and  fling  him  in  the  direction  of  Marlborough  House.  The 
half -hour  chimed,  and  still  Sir  Henry  explained  the  strange 
symptoms  by  which  he  was  beset — the  buzzings  in  the  head, 
the  twitchings  in  the  extremities,  the  creepings,  as  of  insects 
with  iced  legs,  about  the  roots  of  the  hair.  His  eyes  shone 
with  the  ardour  of  the  determined  valetudinarian  closeted 
with  one  paid  to  attend  to  his  complaints. 

And  Mrs.  Chepstow  ?  Had  she  come  ?  Was  she  sitting 
in  the  next  room,  looking  inattentively  at  the  newest  books  ? 

"The  most  extraordinary  matter  in  my  case,"  con- 
tinued Sir  Henry,  with  uplifted  finger,  *'is  the  cold  sweat 
that " 

The  doctor  interrupted  him. 

*'My  advice  to  you  is  this- 


*'But  I  haven't  explained  to  you  about  the  cold  sweat 
that " 

**My  advice  to  you  is  this.  Sir  Henry.  Don't  think 
about  yourself;  walk  for  an  hour  every  day  before  break- 
fast, eat  only  two  meals  a  day,  morning  and  evening,  take 
at  least  eight  hours'  rest  every  night,  give  up  lounging 
about  in  your  club,  occupy  yourself — with  work  for  others, 
if  possible.  I  believe  that  to  be  the  most  tonic  work  there 
is — and  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be  a  cen- 
tenarian. ' ' 

*'  I — a  centenarian?" 

**Why  not?  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  you, 
unless  you  think  there  is." 

**  Nothing — you  say  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with 
me!" 

**I  have  examined  you,  and  that  is  my  opinion." 

The  face  of  the  patient  flushed  with  indignation  at  this 
insult. 

**I  came  to  you  to  be  told  what  was  the  matter." 


BELLA  DONNA  15 

*'And  I  am  glad  to  inform  you  nothing  is  the  matter — 
with  your  body. ' ' 

*  *  Do  you  mean  to  imply  that  my  mind  is  diseased  ? '  * 
*'No.     But  you  don't  give  it  enough  to  think  about. 

You  only  give  it  yourself.    And  that  isn't  nearly  enough." 
Sir  Henry  rose,  and  put  a  trembling  finger  into  his 

waistcoat-pocket. 

"I  believe  I  owe  you ?" 

''Nothing.     But  if  you  care  to  put  something  into  the 

box  on  my  hall  table,  you  will  help  some  poor  man  to  get 

away  to  the  seaside  after  an  operation,  and  find  out  what 

is  the  best  medicine  in  the  world. ' ' 

*  *  And  now  for  Mrs.  Chepstow ! ' '  the  Doctor  murmured 
to  himself,  as  the  door  closed  behind  the  outraged  back  of 
an  enemy. 

He  sat  still  for  a  minute  or  two,  expecting  to  see  the 
door  open  again,  the  form  of  a  woman  framed  in  the  door- 
way. But  no  one  came.  He  began  to  feel  restless.  He 
was  not  accustomed  to  be  kept  waiting  by  his  patients, 
although  he  often  kept  them  waiting.  There  was  a  bell 
close  to  his  elbow.  He  touched  it,  and  his  man-servant 
instantly  appeared. 

**  Mrs.  Chepstow  is  down  for  five-thirty.  It  is  now'' — 
he  pulled  out  his  watch — *^  nearly  ten  minutes  to  six. 
Hasn't  she  come?" 

*'No,  sir.  Two  or  three  people  have  been,  without 
appointments. ' ' 

*'And  you  have  sent  them  away,  of  course?  Quite 
right.    "Well,  I  shan't  stay  in  any  longer." 

He  got  up  from  his  chair. 

'*And  if  Mrs.  Chepstow  should  come,  sir?" 

"Explain  to  her  that  I  waited  till  ten  minutes  to  six 

and  then "    He  paused.    The  hall  door-bell  was  ringing 

sharply. 

**If  it  is  Mrs.  Chepstow,  shall  I  admit  her  now,  sir?" 

The  doctor  hesitated,  but  only  for  a  second. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

And  he  sat  down  again  by  his  table. 


16  BELLA  DONNA 

He  had  been  almost  looking  forward  to  the  arrival  of 
his  last  patient  of  that  day,  but  now  he  felt  irritated  at 
being  detained.  For  a  moment  he  had  believed  his  day^s 
work  to  be  over,  and  in  that  moment  the  humour  for  work 
had  left  him.  Why  had  she  not  been  up  to  time?  He 
tapped  his  delieate  fingers  impatiently  on  the  table,  and 
drew  down  his  thick  brows  over  his  sparkling  eyes.  But 
directly  the  door  moved,  his  expression  of  serenity  returned, 
and  when  a  tall  woman  came  in,  he  was  standing  up  and 
gravely  smiling. 

''I'm  afraid  I  am  late.*' 

The  door  shut  on  Henry. 

''You  are  twenty  minutes  late.*' 

"I'm  so  sorry." 

The  rather  dawdling  tones  of  the  voice  denied  the  truth 
of  the  words,  and  the  busy  Doctor  was  conscious  of  a  slight 
sensation  of  hostility. 

"Please  sit  down  here,"  he  said,  "and  tell  me  why  you 
come  to  consult  me." 

IVIrs.  Chepstow  sat  down  in  the  chair  he  showed  her. 
Her  movements  were  rather  slow  and  careless,  like  the 
movements  of  a  person  who  is  quite  alone  and  has  nothing 
to  do.  They  suggested  to  the  watching  man  vistas  of  empty 
kours — ^how  different  from  his  own !  She  settled  herself  in 
her  chair,  leaning  back.  One  of  her  hands  rested  on  the 
handle  of  a  parasol  she  carried.  The  other  held  lightly  an 
arm  of  the  chair.  Her  height  was  remarkable,  and  was 
made  the  more  apparent  by  her  smaU  waist,  and  by  the 
small  size  of  her  beautifully  shaped  head,  which  was  poised 
on  a  long  but  exquisite  neck.  Her  whole  outline  announced 
her  gentle  breeding.  The  most  lovely  woman  of  the  people 
could  never  be  shaped  quite  like  that.  As  Doctor  Isaacson 
realised  this,  he  felt  a  sudden  difficulty  in  connecting  with 
the  woman  before  him  her  notorious  career.  Surely  pride 
must  be  a  dweller  in  a  body  so  expressive  of  race ! 

He  thought  of  the  very  young  men,  almost  boys,  with 
whom  Mrs.  Chepstow  was  seen  about.     Was  it  possible? 

Her  eyes  met  his,  and  in  her  face  he  saw  a  subtle  contra- 


BELLA  DONNA  17j 

diction  of  the  meaning  her  form  seemed  eloquently  t* 
indicate. 

It  was  possible. 

Almost  before  he  had  time  to  say  this  to  himself,  Mrs. 
Chepstow's  face  had  changed,  suddenly  accorded  more 
definitely  with  her  body. 

"What  a  clever  woman!"  the  Doctor  thought. 

With  an  almost  sharp  movement  he  sat  forward  in  his 
chair,  braced  up,  alert,  vital.  His  irritation  was  gone  with 
the  fatigue  engendered  by  the  day's  work.  Interest  in  life 
tingled  through  his  veins.  His  day  was  not  to  be  wholly 
dull.  His  thought  of  the  morning,  when  he  had  looked  at 
the  patients'  book,  was  not  an  error  of  the  mind. 

^'  You  came  to  consult  me  because ?" 

*'I  don't  know  that  I  am  ill,"  Mrs.  Chepstow  said,  very 
composedly. 

"Let  us  hope  not." 

"Do  you  think  I  look  ill?" 

"Would  you  mind  turning  a  little  more  towards  the 
light?" 

She  sat  still  for  a  minute,  then  she  laughed. 

* '  I  have  always  said  that  so  long  as  one  is  with  a  doctor, 
qua  doctor,  one  must  never  think  of  him  as  a  man,"  she 
said;  "but " 

"Don't  think  of  me  as  a  man." 

"Unfortunately,  there  is  something  about  you  which 
absolutely  prevents  me  from  regarding  you  as  a  machine. 
But — never  mind ! ' ' 

She  turned  to  the  light,  lifted  her  thin  veil,  and  leaned 
towards  him. 

"Do  you  think  I  look  ill?" 

He  gazed  at  her  steadily,  with  a  scrutiny  that  was 
almost  cruel.  The  face  presented  to  him  in  the  bold  light 
that  flowed  in  through  the  large  window  near  which  their 
chairs  were  placed  still  preserved  elements  of  the  beauty 
of  which  the  world  had  heard  too  much.  Its  shape,  like 
the  shape  of  Mrs.  Chepstow's  head,  was  exquisite.  The  line 
of  the  features  was  not  purely  Greek,  but  it  recalled  things 
2 


18  BELLA  DONNA 

Greek,  profiles  in  marble  seen  in  calm  museums.  The  out- 
line of  a  thing  can  set  a  sensitive  heart  beating  with  the 
strange,  the  almost  painful  longing  for  an  ideal  life,  with 
ideal  surroundings,  ideal  loves,  ideal  realizations.  It  can 
call  to  the  imagination  that  lies  drowsing,  yet  full  of  life, 
far  down  in  the  secret  recesses  of  the  soul.  The  curve  of 
Mrs.  Chepstow's  face,  the  modelling  of  her  low  brow,  and 
the  undulations  of  the  hair  that  flowed  away  from  it — 
although,  alas!  that  hair  was  obviously,  though  very  per- 
fectly, dyed — had  this  peculiar  power  of  summons,  sent 
forth  silently  this  subtle  call.  The  curve  of  a  Dryad 's  face, 
seen  dimly  in  the  green  wonder  of  a  magic  wood,  might  well 
have  been  like  this,  or  of  a  nymph's  bathing  by  moonlight 
in  some  very  secret  pool.  But  a  Dryad  would  not  have  touched 
her  lips  with  tliis  vermilion,  a  nymph  have  painted  beneath 
her  laughing  eyes  these  cloudy  shadows,  or  drawn  above 
them  these  artfully  delicate  lines.  And  the  weariness  that 
lay  about  these  cheeks,  and  at  the  corners  of  this  mouth, 
suggested  no  early  world,  no  goddesses  in  the  springtime 
of  creation,  but  an  existence  to  distress  a  moralist,  and 
a  lack  of  pleasure  in  it  to  dishearten  an  honest  pagan.  The 
ideality  in  Mrs.  Chepstow's  face  was  contradicted,  was  set 
almost  at  defiance,  by  something — it  was  difficult  to  say 
exactly  what;  perhaps  by  the  faint  wrinkles  about  the 
comers  of  her  large  and  still  luminous  blue  eyes,  by  a 
certain  not  yet  harsh  prominence  of  the  cheek-bones,  by  a 
slight  droop  of  the  lips  that  hinted  at  passion  linked  with 
cynicism.  There  was  a  suggestion  of  hardness  somewhere. 
Freshness  had  left  this  face,  but  not  because  of  age.  There 
are  elderly,  even  old  women  who  look  almost  girlish,  fra- 
grant with  a  charm  that  has  its  root  in  innocence  of  life. 
Mrs.  Chepstow  did  not  certainly  look  old.  Yet  there  was 
no  youth  in  her,  no  sweetness  of  the  girl  she  once  had  been. 
She  was  not  young,  nor  old,  nor  definitely  middle-aged. 

She  was  definitely  a  woman  who  had  strung  many 
experiences  upon  the  chain  of  her  life,  yet  who,  in  certain 
aspects,  called  up  the  thought  of.  even  the  desire  for, 
things  ideal,  things  very  far  away  from  all  that  is  sordid, 
ugly,  brutal,  and  defaced. 


BELLA  DONNA  19 

The  look  of  pride,  or  perhaps  of  self-respect,  which 
Doctor  Isaacson  had  seen  born  as  if  in  answer  to  his  detri- 
mental thought  of  her,  stayed  in  this  face,  which  was 
turned  towards  the  light. 

He  realized  that  in  this  woman  there  was  much  will, 
perhaps  much  cunning,  and  that  she  was  a  past  mistress  in 
the  art  of  reading  men. 

''Well,''  she  said,  after  a  minute  of  silence,  *'what  do 
you  make  of  it?" 

She  had  a  very  attractive  voice,  not  caressingly  but 
carelessly  seductive ;  a  voice  that  suggested  a  creature  both 
warm  and  lazy,  that  would,  perhaps,  leave  many  things 
to  chance,  but  that  might  at  a  moment  grip  closely,  and 
retain,  what  chance  threw  in  her  way. 

"Please  tell  me  your  symptoms,"  the  Doctor  replied. 

"But  you  tell  me  first— do  I  look  ill?" 

She  fixed  her  eyes  steadily  upon  him. 

"What  is  the  real  reason  why  this  woman  has  come 
tome?" 

The  thought  flashed  through  the  Doctor's  mind  as  his 
eyes  met  hers,  and  he  seemed  to  divine  some  strange  under- 
reason  lurking  far  down  in  her  shrewd  mind,  almost  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  it  ere  it  sank  away  into  complete 
obscurity. 

"Certain  diseases,"  he  said  slowly,  "stamp  themselves 
unmistakably  upon  the  faces  of  those  who  are  suffering 
from  them. ' ' 

"Is  any  one  of  them  stamped  upon  mine?" 

"No." 

She  moved,  as  if  settling  herself  more  comfortably  in 
her  chair. 

* '  Shall  I  put  your  parasol  down  ? "  he  asked,  stretching 
out  his  hand. 

"No,  thanks.    I  like  holding  it." 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  must  tell  me  what  are  your  symptoms.  ** 

* '  I  feel  a  sort  of  general  malaise. ' ' 

"Is  it  a  physical  malaise ? ' ' 

"Why  not?"  she  said,  almost  sharply. 


20  BELLA  DONNA 

She  smiled,  as  if  in  pity  at  ker  own  childishness,  and 
added  immediately: 

"I  can't  say  that  I  suffer  actual  physical  pain.  But 
without  that  one  may  not  feel  particularly  well." 

"Perhaps  your  nervous  system  is  out  of  order." 

**I  suppose  every  day  you  have  silly  women  coming  to 
you  full  of  complaints  but  without  the  ghost  of  a  malady  ? '  * 

"You  must  not  ask  me  to  condemn  my  patients.  And 
not  only  women  are  silly  in  that  way." 

He  thought  of  Sir  Henry  Grebe,  and  of  his  own  pre- 
scription. 

"I  had  better  examine  you.  Then  I  can  tell  you  more 
about  yourself. ' ' 

While  he  spoke,  he  felt  as  if  he  were  being  examined  by 
her.  Never  before  had  he  experienced  this  curious  sensa- 
tion, almost  of  self -consciousness,  with  any  patient. 

**0h,  no,"  she  said,  "I  don't  want  to  be  examined.  1 
know  my  heart  and  my  lungs  and  so  on  are  sound  enough." 

*  *  At  any  rate,  allow  me  to  feel  your  pulse. ' ' 

*  *  And  look  at  my  tongue,  perhaps !  * ' 

She  laughed,  but  she  pulled  off  her  glove  and  extended 
her  hand  to  him.  He  put  his  fingers  on  her  wrist,  and 
looked  at  his  watch.  Her  skin  was  cool.  Her  pulse  beat 
regularly  and  strongly.  From  her,  a  message  to  his  lightly 
touching  fingers,  flowed  surely  determination,  self-posses- 
sion, hardihood,  even  combativeness.  As  he  felt  her  pulse 
he  understood  the  defiance  of  her  life. 

"  Your  pulse  is  good,"  he  said,  dropping  her  hand. 

During  the  short  time  he  had  touched  her,  he  seemed  to 
have  learnt  a  great  deal  about  her. 

And  she — how  much  had  she  learnt  about  himt 

He  found  himself  wondering  in  a  fashion  unorthodox  in 
a  doctor. 

"Mrs.  Chepstow,"  he  said,  speaking  rather  brusquely, 
'*I  wish  you  would  kindly  explain  to  me  exactly  why  you 
have  come  here  to-day.  If  you  don't  feel  ill,  why  waste 
your  time  with  a  doctor?  I  am  sure  you  are  not  a  woman 
to  run  about  seeking  what  you  have." 


BELLA  DONNA  21 

**You  mean  health!  But — I  don't  feel  as  I  used  to 
feel.  Formerly  I  was  a  very  strong  woman,  so  strong  that 
I  often  felt  as  if  I  were  safe  from  unhappiness,  real  unhap- 
piness.  For  Schopenhauer  was  right,  I  suppose,  and  if 
one 's  health  is  perfect,  one  rises  above  what  are  called  mis- 
fortunes.   And,  you  know,  I  have  had  great  misfortunes." 

**Yes?" 

*'You  must  know  that." 

''Yes." 

"I  didn't  really  mind  them — ^not  enormously.  Even 
when  I  was  what  I  suppose  nice  people  called  'ruined' — 
after  my  divorce — I  was  quite  able  to  enjoy  life  and  its 
pleasures,  eating  and  drinking,  travelling,  yachting,  riding, 
motoring,  theatre-going,  gambling,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  People  who  are  being  universally  condemned,  or 
pitied,  are  often  having  a  quite  splendid  time,  you  know." 

"Just  as  people  who  are  universally  envied  are  often 
miserable. ' ' 

"Exactly.  But  of  late  I  have  begun  to — well,  to  feel 
different." 

"In  what  way  exactly?" 

' '  To  feel  that  my  health  is  no  longer  perfect  enough  to 
defend  me  against — I  might  call  it  ennui." 

"Yes?" 

"Or  I  might  call  it  depression,  melancholy,  in  fact. 
Now  I  don't  want — I  simply  will  not  be  the  victim  of 
depression,  as  so  many  women  are.  Do  you  realise  how 
frightfully  women — many  women — suffer  secretly  from 
depression  when  they — when  they  begin  to  find  out  that 
they  are  not  going  to  remain  eternally  young?" 

"I  realize  it,  certainly." 

' '  I  will  not  be  the  victim  of  that  depression,  because  it 
ruins  one's  appearance  and  destroys  one's  power.  I  am 
thirty-eight." 

Her  large  blue  eyes  met  the  Doctor's  eyes  steadily. 

"Yes?" 

"In  England  nowadays  that  isn't  considered  anything. 
In  England,  if  one  has  perfect  health,  one  may  pass  for  a 


22  BELLA  DONNA 

charming  and  attractive  woman  till  one  is  at  least  fifty, 
or  even  more.  But  to  seem  young  when  one  is  getting  on, 
one  must  feel  young.  Now,  I  no  longer  feel  young.  I  am 
positive  feeling  young  is  a  question  of  physical  health.  I 
believe  almost  everything  one  feels  is  a  question  of  physical 
health.  Mystics,  people  who  believe  in  metempsychosis,  in 
the  progress  upward  and  immortality  of  the  soul,  idealists 
— they  would  cry  out  against  me  as  a  rank  materialist.  But 
you  are  a  doctor,  and  know  the  empire  of  the  body.  Am  I 
not  right?  Isn't  almost  everjrthing  one  feels  an  emanation 
from  one's  molecules,  or  whatever  they  are  called?  Isn't 
it  an  echo  of  the  chorus  of  one 's  atoms  ? ' ' 

*'No  doubt  the  state  of  the  body  affects  the  state  of  the 
mind. ' ' 

* '  How  cautious  you  are ! " 

A  rather  contemptuous  smile  flickered  over  her  too  red 
lips. 

"And  really  you  must  be  in  absolute  antagonism  with 
the  priests,  the  Christian  Scientists,  with  all  the  cranks  and 
the  self-deceivers  who  put  soul  above  matter,  who  pretend 
that  soul  is  independent  of  matter.  Why,  only  the  other 
day  I  was  reading  about  the  psychophysical  investigations 
with  the   pneumograph  and  the   galvanometer,   and   I'm 

certain  that "     Suddenly  she  checked  herself.     ''But 

that's  beside  the  question.  I've  told  you  what  I  mean,  what 
I  think,  that  health  triumphs  over  nearly  everything." 

**You  seem  to  be  very  convinced,  a  very  sincere 
materialist. ' ' 

''And  you?" 

"Despite  the  discoveries  of  science,  I  think  there  are 
still  depths  of  mystery  in  maE." 

"Woman  included?" 

"Oh,  dear,  yes!    But  to  return  to  your  condition." 

"Ah!" 

She  glanced  at  a  watch  on  her  wrist. 

"Your  day  of  work  ends ?" 

"At  six,  as  a  rule." 

"I  mustn't  keep  you.  The  truth  is  this.  I  am  losing 
my  zest  for  life,  and  because  I  am  losing  my  zest,  I  am 


BELLA  DONNA  23 

losing  my  power  over  life.  I  am  beginning  to  feel  weary, 
melancholy,  sometimes  apprehensive." 

''Of  what?" 

*' Middle  age,  I  suppose,  and  the  ending  of  all  things." 

''And  you  want  me  to  prescribe  against  melancholy?" 

"Why  not?  What  is  a  doctor  for?  I  tell  you  I 
am  certain  these  feelings  in  me  come  from  a  bodily  con- 
dition." 

"You  think  it  quite  impossible  that  they  may  proceed 
from  a  condition  of  the  soul  ? ' ' 

"Quite.  I  believe  it  all  ends  here  on  the  day  one  dies. 
I  feel  as  certain  of  that  as  of  my  being  a  woman.  And  this 
being  my  conviction,  I  think  it  of  paramount  importance  to 
have  a  good  time  while  I  am  here." 

"Naturally." 

"Now,  a  woman's  good  time  depends  on  a  woman *s 
power  over  others,  and  that  power  depends  on  her  thor- 
ough-going belief  in  herself.  So  long  as  she  is  perfectly 
well,  she  feels  young,  and  so  long  as  she  feels  young,  she 
can  give  the  impression  that  she  is  young — with  the  slight- 
est assistance  from  art.  And  so  long  as  she  can  give  that 
impression — of  course  I  am  speaking  of  a  woman  who  is 
what  is  called  '  attractive  ' — it  is  all  right  with  her.  She 
wdll  believe  in  herself,  and  she  will  have  a  good  time. 
Now,  Doctor  Isaacson — remember  that  I  consider  all  con- 
fidences made  to  a  physician  of  your  eminence,  all  that  I 
tell  you  to-day,  as  inviolably  secret " 

"Of  course,"  he  said. 

"Lately  my  belief  in  myself  has  been — ^well,  shaken.  I 
attribute  this  to  some  failure  in  my  health.  So  I  have 
come  to  you.  Try  to  find  out  if  anything  in  my  bodily 
condition  is  wrong." 

"Very  well.  But  you  must  allow  me  to  examine  you, 
and  I  must  put  to  you  a  number  of  purely  medical  ques- 
tions which  you  must  answer  truthfully." 

"J5Jn  avant,  monsieur!" 

She  put  her  parasol  down  on  the  floor  beside  her. 

"I  don't  believe  in  subterfuge — with  a  doctor,"  she 
said. 


24  BELLA  DONNA 


III 


Mrs.  Chepstow  came  out  of  the  house  in  Cleveland 
Square  as  the  clocks  were  striking  seven,  stepped  into  a 
taximeter  cab,  and  was  hurried  off  into  the  busy  whirl  of 
St.  James's  Street,  while  Doctor  Meyer  Isaacson  went 
upstairs  to  his  bedroom  to  rest  and  dress  for  dinner.  His 
clothes  were  already  laid  out,  and  he  sent  his  valet  away. 
As  soon  as  the  man  was  gone,  the  Doctor  took  off  his  coat 
and  waistcoat,  his  collar  and  tie,  sat  down  in  an  arm-chair 
by  the  open  window,  leaned  his  head  against  a  cushion,  shut 
his  eyes,  and  deliberately  relaxed  all  his  muscles.  Every 
day,  sometimes  at  one  time,  sometimes  at  another,  he  did 
this  for  ten  minutes  or  a  quarter  of  an  hour ;  and  in  these 
moments,  as  he  relaxed  his  muscles,  he  also  relaxed  his 
mind,  banishing  thoughts  by  an  effort  of  the  will.  So  often 
had  he  done  this  that  generally  he  did  it  without  difficulty ; 
and  though  he  never  feU  asleep  in  daylight,  he  came  out 
of  this  short  rest-cure  refreshed  as  after  two  hours  of 
slumber. 

But  to-day,  though  he  could  command  his  body,  his 
mind  was  wilful.  He  could  not  clear  it  of  the  restless 
thoughts.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  became  all 
mind  as  he  sat  there,  motionless,  looking  almost  like  a  dead 
man,  with  his  stretched-out  legs,  his  hanging  arms,  his 
dropped  jaw.  His  last  patient  was  fighting  against  his 
desire  for  complete  repose,  was  defying  his  will  and  con- 
quering it. 

After  his  examination  of  Mrs.  Chepstow,  his  series  of 
questions,  he  had  said  to  her,  * '  There  is  nothing  the  matter 
with  you.*'  A  very  ordinary  phrase,  but  even  as  he  spoke 
it,  something  within  him  cried  to  him,  **You  liar!'*  This 
woman  suffered  from  no  bodily  disease.  But  to  say  to  her, 
** There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  you,''  was,  nevertheless, 
to  tell  her  a  lie.  And  he  had  added  the  qualifying  state- 
ment, "that  a  doctor  can  do  anything  for."  He  could  see 
her  face  before  him  now  as  it  had  looked  for  a  moment 
after  he  had  spoken. 


BELLA  DONNA  25 

Her  exquisite  hair  was  dyed  a  curious  colour.  Natu- 
rally a  bright  brown,  it  had  been  changed  by  art  to  a 
lighter,  less  warm  hue,  that  was  neither  flaxen  nor  golden, 
but  that  held  a  strange  pallor,  distinctive,  though  scarcely 
beautiful.  It  had  the  merit  of  making  her  eyes  look  very 
vivid  between  the  painted  shadows  and  the  painted  brows, 
and  this  fact  had  been  no  doubt  realized  by  the  artist 
responsible  for  it.  Apparently  Mrs.  Chepstow  relied  upon 
the  fascination  of  a  peculiar,  almost  anaemic  fairness,  in  the 
midst  of  which  eyes,  lips,  and  brows  stood  forcibly  out  to 
seize  the  attention  and  engross  it.  There  was  in  this  fair- 
ness, this  blanched  delicacy,  something  almost  pathetic, 
which  assisted  the  completion,  in  the  mind  of  a  not  too 
astute  beholder,  of  the  impression  already  begun  to  be  made 
by  the  beautiful  shape  of  the  face. 

When  Doctor  Meyer  Isaacson  had  finished  speaking, 
that  face  had  been  a  still  but  searching  question;  and 
almost  immediately  a  question  had  come  from  the  red  lips. 

*^Is  there  absolutely  no  unhealthy  condition  of  body 
such  as  might  be  expected  to  produce  low  spirits?  You 
see  how  medically  I  speak!  " 

*'None  whatever.  You  are  not  even  gouty,  and  three- 
quarters,  at  least,  of  my  patients  are  gouty  in  some  form 
or  other." 

]\Irs.  Chepstow  frowned. 

''Then  what  would  you  advise  me  to  do?"  she  asked. 
** Shall  I  go  to  a  priest?  Shall  I  go  to  a  philosopher? 
Shall  I  go  to  a  Christian  Science  temple  ?  Or  do  you  think 
a  good  dose  of  the  *  New  Theology '  would  benefit  me  ? " 

She  spoke  satirically,  yet  Doctor  Isaacson  felt  as  if  he 
heard,  far  off,  faintly  behind  the  satire,  the  despair  of  the 
materialist,  against  whom,  in  certain  moments,  all  avenues 
of  hope  seem  inexorably  closed.  He  looked  at  Mrs.  Chep- 
stow, and  there  was  a  dawning  of  pity  in  his  eyes  as  he 
answered : 

''How  can  I  advise  you?" 

"How  indeed?  And  yet — and  that's  a  curious  thing — 
you  look  as  if  you  could." 


26  BELLA  DONNA 

*'If  you  are  really  a  convinced  materialist,  an  honest 
atheist '' 

''I  am.'' 

**Well,  then  it  would  be  useless  to  advise  you  to  seek 
priests  or  to  go  to  Christian  Science  temples.  I  can  only 
tell  you  that  your  complaint  is  not  a  complaint  of  the 
body." 

''Then  is  it  a  complaint  of  the  soul?  That's  a  bore, 
because  I  don't  happen  to  believe  in  the  soul,  and  I  do 
believe  very  much  in  the  body. ' ' 

''I  wonder  what  exactly  you  mean  when  you  say  you 
don 't  believe  in  the  soul. ' ' 

''I  mean  that  I  don't  believe  there  is  in  human  beings 
anything  mysterious  which  can  live  unless  the  body  is 
living,  anything  that  doesn't  die  simultaneously  with  the 
body.  Of  course  there  is  something  that  we  call  mental, 
that  likes  and  dislikes,  loves  and  hates,  and  so  on." 

''And  cannot  that  something  be  depressed  by  misfor^ 
tune?" 

* '  I  did  not  say  I  had  had  any  misfortune. ' ' 

"Nor  did  I  say  so.  Let  us  put  it  this  way  then — cannot 
that  something  be  depressed?" 

"To  a  certain  degree,  of  course.  But  keep  your  body 
in  perfect  health,  and  you  ought  to  be  immime  from 
extreme  depression.  And  I  believe  you  are  immune. 
Frankly,  Doctor  Meyer  Isaacson,  I  don't  think  you  are 
right.  I  am  sure  something  is  out  of  order  in  my  body. 
There  must  be  some  pressure  somewhere,  some  obscure 
derangement  of  the  nerves,  something  radically  wrong." 

' '  Try  another  doctor.  Try  a  nerve  specialist — a  hypno- 
tist, if  you  like :  Hinton  Morris,  Scalinger,  or  Powell  Burn- 
ham;  I  fear  I  cannot  help  you." 

"So  it  seems." 

She  got  up  slowly.  And  still  her  movements  were  care- 
less, but  always  full  of  a  grace  that  was  very  individual. 

"Remember,"  she  said,  "that  I  have  spoken  to  you  so 
frankly  in  your  capacity  as  a  physician." 

"All  I  hear  in  this  room  I  forj^et  when  I  am  out  of  it.** 


BELLA  DONNA  27 

''Truly?"  she  said. 

"At  any  rate,  I  forget  to  speak  of  it,"  he  said,  rather 
curtly. 

''Good-bye,"  she  rejoined. 

She  left  him  with  a  strange  sensation  of  the  hopeless- 
ness that  comes  from  greed  and  acute  worldliness,  uncom- 
bined  with  any,  even  subconscious,  conception  of  other 
possibilities  than  purely  material  ones. 

What  could  such  a  woman  have  to  look  forward  to  at 
this  period  of  her  life  ? 

Doctor  Isaacson  was  thinking  about  this  now.  He  re- 
mained always  perfectly  motionless  in  his  arm-chair,  but  he 
had  abandoned  the  attempt  to  discipline  his  mind.  He 
knew  that  to-day  his  brain  would  not  repose  with  his  limbs, 
and  he  no  longer  desired  his  usual  rest-cure.  He  preferred 
to  think — about  Mrs.  Chepstow. 

She  had  made  upon  him  a  powerful  impression.  He 
recalled  the  look  in  her  eyes  when  she  had  said  that  she  was 
thirty-eight,  a  look  that  had  seemed  to  command  him  to 
believe  her.  He  had  not  believed  her,  yet  he  had  no  idea 
what  her  real  age  was.  Only  he  knew  that  it  was  not 
thirty-eight.  How  determined  she  was  not  to  suffer,  to  get 
through  life — her  one  life,  as  she  thought  it — without  dis- 
tress !  And  she  was  suffering.  He  divined  why.  That  was 
not  difficult.  She  was  "in  low  water."  The  tides  of  pleas- 
ure were  failing.  And  she  had  nothing  to  cling  to,  clever 
woman  though  she  was. 

Why  did  he  think  her  clever? 

He  asked  himself  that  question.  He  was  not  a  man  to 
take  cleverness  on  trust.  Mrs.  Chepstow  had  not  said  any- 
thing specially  brilliant.  In  her  materialism  she  was 
surely  short-sighted,  if  not  blind.  She  had  made  a  mess  of 
her  life.    And  yet  he  knew  that  she  was  a  clever  woman. 

She  had  been  very  frank  with  him. 

Why  had  she  been  so  frank? 

More  than  once  he  asked  himself  that.  His  mind  was 
full  of  questions  to-day,  questions  to  which  he  could  not 
immediately  supply  answers.    He  felt  as  if  in  all  she  had 


«8  BELLA  DONNA 

said  Mrs.  Cliepstow  had  been  prompted  by  some  very 
definite  purpose.  She  had  made  upon  him  the  impression 
of  a  woman  full  of  purpose,  and  often  full  of  subtlety. 
He  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  conviction  that  she  had 
had  some  concealed  reason  for  wishing  to  make  his  acquaint- 
ance, some  reason  unconnected  with  her  health.  He  be- 
lieved she  had  wished  honestly  for  his  help  as  a  doctor.  But 
surely  that  was  not  her  only  object  in  coming  to  Cleveland 
Square. 

The  clock  on  his  chimney-piece  struck.  His  time  for 
repose  was  at  an  end.  He  shut  his  mouth  with  a  snap, 
contracted  his  muscles  sharply,  and  sprang  up  from  his 
chair.  Ten  minutes  later  he  was  in  a  cold  bath,  and  half  an 
hour  later  he  was  dressed  for  dinner,  and  going  down- 
stairs with  the  light,  quick  step  of  a  man  in  excellent  phys- 
ical condition  and  capital  spirits.  The  passing  depression 
he  had  caught  from  his  last  patient  had  vanished  away,  and 
he  was  in  the  mood  to  enjoy  his  well-earned  recreation. 

He  was  dining  in  Charles  Street,  Berkeley  Square,  with 
Lady  Somerson,  a  widow  who  was  persistently  hospitable 
because  she  could  not  bear  to  be  alone.  To-night  she  had 
a  large  party.  "When  Doctor  Isaacson  came  into  the  room 
on  the  ground  floor  where  I^ady  Somerson  always  received 
her  guests  before  a  dinner,  he  found  her  dressed  in  rusty 
black,  with  her  grey  hair  done  anyhow,  managing  and 
directing  the  conversation  of  quite  a  crowd  of  important 
and  interesting  persons,  most  of  whom  had  got  well  away 
from  their  first  youth,  but  were  so  important  and  interest- 
ing that  they  did  not  care  at  all  what  age  they  were.  It 
was  Wednesday  night,  and  the  flavour  of  the  party  was 
political ;  but  among  the  men  were  two  soldiers,  and  among 
the  women  was  a  well-known  beauty,  who  cared  very  little 
for  politics,  but  a  great  deal  for  good  talk.  She  was  one  of 
those  beauties  who  reign  only  in  faithful  London,  partly 
because  of  London  ^s  faithfulness,  but  partly  also  because  of 
their  excellent  digestions,  good  spirits,  and  entire  lack  of 
pretence.  Her  name  was  Mrs.  Derringham;  her  age  was 
forty-eight.     She  was   not   ''made   up.''     She   made   no 


BELLA  DONNA  29 

attempt  to  look  any  younger  than  she  was.  Lively,  ener- 
getic, without  wrinkles,  and  apparently  without  vanity,  she 
neither  forbade  nor  encouraged  people  to  think  of  her 
years,  but  attracted  them  by  her  splendid  figure,  her  anima- 
tion, her  zest  and  her  readiness  to  enjoy  the  passing  hour. 

Doctor  Isaacson  knew  her  well,  and  as  he  shook  hands 
with  her  he  thought  of  Mrs.  Chepstow  and  of  the  gospel  of 
Materialism.  This  woman  certainly  knew  how  to  enjoy  the 
good  things  of  this  world;  but  she  had  interests  that  were 
not  selfish:  her  husband,  her  children,  her  charities,  her 
dependents.  She  had  struck  roots  deep  down  into  the  rich 
and  rewarding  soil  of  the  humanities.  Women  like  Mrs. 
Chepstow  struck  no  roots  into  any  soil.  Was  it  any  wonder 
if  the  days  came  and  the  nights  when  the  souls  of  them  were 
weary?  Was  it  any  wonder  if  the  weariness  set  its  mark 
upon  their  beauty  ? 

The  door  opened,  and  the  last  guest  appeared — a  man, 
tall,  broad-chested,  and  fair,  with  short  yellow  hair  parted 
in  the  middle,  a  well-shaped  head,  a  blunt,  straight  nose,  a 
well-defined  but  not  obstinate  chin,  a  sensitive  mouth,  and 
big,  sincere,  even  enthusiastic,  blue  eyes,  surmounted  by 
thick  blond  eyebrows  that  always  looked  as  if  they  had 
just  been  brushed  vigorously  upwards.  A  small,  close- 
growing  moustache  covered  his  upper  lip.  His  cheeks  and 
forehead  were  tanned  by  the  sun.  He  was  thirty-six  years 
old,  but  looked  a  great  deal  younger,  because  he  was  fair. 
His  figure  was  very  muscular  and  upright,  with  a  hollow 
back  and  lean  flanks.  His  capable,  rather  large-fingered, 
but  not  clumsy,  hands  were  brown.  There  was  in  his  face  a 
peculiarly  straight  and  bright  look  that  suggested  the 
North  and  Northern  things,  the  glitter  of  stars  upon  snows, 
cool  summits  of  mountains  swept  by  pure  winds,  the  scented 
freshness  of  pine  forests.  He  had  something  of  the  expres- 
sion, of  the  build,  and  of  the  carriage  of  a  hero  from  the 
North.  But  he  was  surely  a  hero  from  the  North  who  had 
very  recently  had  his  dwelling  in  the  South,  and  who  had 
taken  kindly  to  it. 

When  Lady  Somerson  saw  the  newcomer,  she  rushed  at 


80  BELLA  DONNA 

him  and  blew  him  up.  Then  she  introduced  him  to  the 
lady  he  was  to  take  in  to  dinner,  and,  with  an  alacrity 
that  was  almost  feverish,  gave  the  signal  for  her  guests  to 
move  into  the  dining-room,  disclosed  at  this  moment  by 
two  assiduous  footmea  who  briskly  pushed  back  the  sliding 
doors  that  divided  it  from  the  room  in  which  she  had 
received. 

'  *  Our  hostess  does  not  conceal  her  feelings, ' '  murmured 
Mrs.  Derringham,  who  was  Doctor  Isaacson's  companion, 
as  they  found  their  places  at  the  long  table.  ''Who  is  the 
man  whom  she  has  just  scolded  so  vivaciously?  I  know 
his  face  quite  well." 

"One  of  the  best  fellows  in  the  world — Nigel  Armine. 
I  have  not  seen  him  till  to-night  since  last  October.  He  has 
been  out  in  Egypt." 

At  this  moment  he  caught  the  fair  man 's  eyes,  and  they 
exchanged  with  his  a  look  of  friendship. 

"Of  course!  I  remember!  He  looks  like  a  knight- 
errant.  So  did  his  father,  poor  Harwich.  I  used  to  act 
with  Harwich  in  the  early  never-mind-whats  at  Burnham 
House.  One  scarcely  ever  sees  Nigel  now.  I  don't  think 
he  was  ever  at  all  really  fond  of  London  and  gaieties. 
Harwich  was,  of  course.  Yet  even  in  his  face  there  was  a 
sort  of  strangeness,  of  other- worldliness.  I  used  to  say 
he  had  kitten's  eyes.  How  he  believed  in  women,  poor 
fellow!" 

* '  Don 't  you  believe  in  women  ? ' ' 

"As  a  race,  no.  I  believe  in  a  very  few  individual 
women.  But  Harwich  believed  in  women  because  they  were 
women.  That  is  always  a  mistake.  He  believed  in  them 
as  a  good  Catholic  believes  in  the  Saints.  And  he  was 
punished  for  it.*' 

"You  mean  after  Nigel's  mother  died?    That  Mrs. 

what  was  her  name? — Mrs.  Alstruther?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Alstruther.  She  treated  Harwich  abom- 
inably. Even  if  she  had  been  free,  she  would  never  have 
married  him.  Pie  bored  her.  But  ho  worshipped  her,  and 
thought  to  the  end  that  her  husband  ill-used  her.     So 


BELLA  DONNA  SI 

absurd,  when  Paul  Alstruther  could  call  neither  his  soul 
nor  his  purse  his  own.  Nigel  Armine  has  his  father 's  look. 
He,  too,  is  born  to  believe  in  women." 

She  paused ;  then  she  added : 

''I  must  say  it  would  be  rather  nice  to  be  the  woman 
he  believed  in." 

''Tell  me  something  about  this  Mr.  Armine,  Doctor 
Isaacson,"  said  Lady  O'Ryan,  who  was  sitting  on  the 
Doctor's  other  side,  and  had  caught  part  of  this  conversa- 
tion, "You  know  I  am  always  in  County  Clare,  and  as 
ignorant  as  a  violet.    Who  is  he  exactly?" 

"A  younger  brother  of  Harwich's,  and  the  next  heir 
to  the  title." 

' '  That  immensely  rich  Lord  Harwich  whose  horses  have 
won  so  many  races,  and  who  married  Zoe  Mulligan,  of 
Chicago,  more  than  ten  years  ago?" 

''Yes.  They've  never  had  any  children,  and  Harwich 
has  knocked  his  health  to  pieces,  so  Armine  is  pretty 
sure  to  succeed.  But  he's  fairly  well  off,  I  suppose,  for  a 
bachelor.  When  his  mother  died,  she  left  him  her  prop- 
erty." 

"And  what  does  he  do?" 

* '  He  was  in  the  army,  but  resigned  his  commission  when 
he  came  into  his  land." 

"Why?" 

"To  look  after  his  people.  He  had  great  ideas  about  a 
landlord's  duties  to  his  tenants." 

"0 'Ryan's  tenants  have  enormous  ideas  about  his  duties 
to  them." 

"That  must  be  trying.  Armine  lived  in  the  country, 
and  made  a  great  many  generous  experiments — built  model 
cottages,  started  rifle  ranges,  erected  libraries,  gymnasiums, 
swimming  baths.  In  fact,  he  spent  his  money  royally — too 
royally. ' ' 

"And  were  they  sick  with  gratitude?" 

"Their  thankfulness  did  not  go  so  far  as  that.  In  fact, 
some  of  Armine 's  schemes  for  making  people  happy  met 
with  a  good  deal  of  opposition.    Finally  there  was  a  tre- 


32  BELLA  DONNA 

mendous  row  about  a  right  of  way.  The  tenants  were  in 
the  wrong,  and  Armine  was  so  disgusted  at  their  trying  to 
rob  him  of  what  was  his,  after  he  had  showered  benefits 
upon  them,  that  he  let  his  place  and  hasn't  been  there 
since. ' ' 

*' That's  so  like  people,  to  ignore  libraries  and  village 
halls,  and  shriek  for  the  right  to  get  over  a  certain  stile,  or 
go  down  a  muddy  path  that  leads  from  nothing  to  no- 
where. ' ' 

**The  desire  of  the  star  for  the  moth!'* 

**You  call  humanity  a  star?" 

**I  think  there  is  a  great  brightness  burning  in  it; 
don't  you?" 

' '  There  seems  to  be  in  Mr.  Armine,  certainly.  What  an 
enthusiastic  look  he  has!  How  could  he  get  wrong  with 
his  tenants  ? ' ' 

**It  may  have  been  his  enthusiasm,  his  great  expecta- 
tions, his  ideality.  Perhaps  he  puzzled  his  people,  asked 
too  much  imagination,  too  much  sacred  fire  from  them. 
And  then  he  has  immense  ideas  about  honesty,  and  the 
rights  of  the  individual;  and,  in  fact,  about  a  good  many 
things  that  seldom  bother  the  head  of  the  average  man." 

''Don't  tell  me  he  has  developed  into  a  crank,"  said 
Mrs.  Derringham.  ''There's  something  so  underbred  about 
crankiness;  and  the  Harwich  family  have  always  been 
essentially  aristocrats." 

"I  shouldn't  think  Armine  was  a  crank,  but  I  do  think 
he  is  an  idealist.  He  considers  Watts 's  allegorical  pictures 
the  greatest  things  in  Art  that  have  been  done  since  Botti- 
celli enshrined  Purity  in  paint.  In  modern  music  Elgar's 
his  man;  in  modern  literature,  Tolstoy.  He  loves  those 
with  ideals,  even  if  their  ideals  are  not  his.  I  do  not  say 
he  is  an  artist.  He  is  not.  His  motto  is  not '  Art  for  art 's 
sake,'  but  'Art  for  man's  sake.'  " 

"He  is  a  humanitarian?" 

"And  a  great  believer." 

"In  man?" 

"In  the  good  that  is  in  man.    I  often  think  at  the  back 


BELLA  DONNA  S3 

of  his  mind,  or  heart,  he  believes  that  the  act  of  belief  is 
almost  an  act  of  creation/' 

' '  You  mean,  for  instance,  that  if  you  believe  in  a  man 's 
truthfulness  you  make  him  a  truthful  man?" 

''Yes.'' 

*'0h,  Doctor  Isaacson,*'  said  Lady  O'Ryan,  ''do  intro- 
duce Mr.  Armine  to  my  husband,  and  make  him  believe 
my  husband  is  a  miser  instead  of  a  spendthrift.  It  would 
be  such  a  mercy  to  the  family.  We  might  begin  to  pay 
off  the  mortgage  on  the  castle." 

The  conversation  took  a  frivolous  turn,  and  died  in 
laughter. 

But  towards  the  end  of  dinner  Mrs.  Derringham  again 
spoke  of  Nigel  Armine,  asking: 

"And  what  does  Mr.  Armine  do  now?" 

''He  went  to  Egypt  after  he  let  his  place,  bought  some 
land  there,  in  the  Fayyum,  I  believe,  and  has  been  living  on 
it  a  good  deal.  I  think  he  has  been  making  some  experi- 
ments in  farming." 

"And  does  he  believe  in  the  truth  and  honesty  of  the 
average  donkey-boy?" 

"I  don't  know.  But  I  must  confess  I  have  heard  him 
extol  the  merits  of  the  Bedouins." 

At  this  moment  Lady  Somerson  sprang  up,  in  her  usual 
feverish  manner,  and  the  men  in  a  moment  were  left  to 
themselves.  As  the  sliding  doors  closed  behind  Lady 
Somerson 's  active  back,  there  was  a  hesitating  movement 
among  them,  suggestive  of  a  half-formed  desire  for  rear- 
rangement. 

Then  Armine  came  decisively  away  from  his  place  on 
the  far  side  of  the  long  table,  and  joined  Meyer  Isaacson. 

"  I  'm  glad  to  meet  you  again,  Isaacson, ' '  he  said,  grasp- 
ing the  Doctor's  hand. 

The  Doctor  returned  his  grip  with  a  characteristic  clasp, 
and  they  sat  down  side  by  side,  while  the  other  men  began 
talking  and  lighting  cigarettes. 

"Have  you  only  just  come  back?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

* '  I  have  been  back  for  a  week. ' ' 


34,  BELLA  DONNA 

**So  long!    Where  are  you  staying?'* 

*'At  the  Savoy.'' 

*'The  Savoy?" 

*'Are  you  surprised?" 

The  Doctor's  brilliant  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Armine 
with  an  expression  half  humorous,  half  affectionate. 

**Any  smart  hotel  would  seem  the  wrong  place  for 
you,"  he  said.  '^I  can  see  you  on  the  snows  of  the  Alps, 
or  your  own  moors  at  Etchingham,  even  at — where  is  it?" 

*  *  Sennoures. ' ' 

**But  at  the  Savoy,  the  Ritz,  the  Carlton — no.  Their 
gilded  banality  isn't  the  cadre  for  you  at  all." 

*'I'm  very  happy  at  the  Savoy,"  Armine  replied. 

As  he  spoke,  he  looked  away  from  Meyer  Isaacson  across 
the  table  to  the  wall  opposite  to  him.  Upon  it  hung  a  large 
reproduction  of  Watts 's  picture,  ** Progress."  He  gazed  at 
it,  and  his  face  became  set  in  a  strange  calm,  as  if  he  had 
for  a  moment  forgotten  the  place  he  was  in,  the  people 
round  about  him.  Meyer  Isaacson  watched  him  with  a 
concentrated  interest.  There  was  something  in  this  man — 
there  always  had  been  something — which  roused  in  the 
Doctor  an  affection,  an  admiration,  that  were  mingled 
with  pity  and  even  with  a  secret  fear.  Such  a  nature,  the 
Doctor  often  thought,  must  surely  be  fore-ordained  to  suffer- 
ing in  a  world  that  holds  certainly  many  who  cherish  ideals 
and  strive  to  mount  upwards,  but  a  majority  that  is  greedy 
for  the  constant  gratification  of  the  fleshly  appetites,  that 
seldom  listens  to  the  dim  appeal  of  the  distant  voices  which 
sometimes  speak,  however  faintly,  to  all  who  dwell  on 
earth. 

*'What  a  splendid  thing  that  is!"  Armine  said,  at  last, 
with  a  sigh.     ''You  know  the  original?" 

' '  I  saw  it  the  other  day  at  the  gallery  in  Compton. ' ' 

**  Progress — advance — going  on  irresistibly  all  the  time, 
whether  we  see  it,  feel  it,  or  not.    How  glorious ! ' ' 

"You  are  always  an  optimist?" 

"I  do  believe  in  the  triumph  of  good.  More  and  more 
every  day  I  believe  in  that,  the  triumph  of  good  in  the 


BELLA  DONNA  35^ 

world,  and  in  the  individual.  And  the  more  believers  there 
are — true  believers — in  that  triumph,  the  more  surely,  the 
more  swiftly,  it  will  be  accomplished.  You  can  help, 
Isaacson." 

''By  believing?" 

**Yes,  that's  the  way  to  help.  But  Lord!  how  few 
people  take  it!  Suspicion  is  one  of  the  most  destructive 
agents  at  work  in  the  world.  Suspect  a  man,  and  you 
almost  force  him  to  give  you  cause  for  suspicion.  Suspect 
a  woman,  and  instantly  you  give  her  a  push  towards  deceit. 
How  I  hate  to  hear  men  say  they  don't  trust  women." 

''Women  say  that,  too." 

"Sex  treachery!  Despicable!  They  who  say  that  are 
traitresses  in  their  own  camp." 

"You  value  truth,  don't  you?" 

"Above  everything." 

' '  Suppose  women  truly  mistrust  other  women ;  are  they 
to  pretend  the  contrary?" 

' '  They  can  be  silent,  and  try  to  stamp  out  an  unworthy,, 
a  destructive,  feeling." 

He  said  nothing  for  a  moment.  Then  he  looked  up  at 
Meyer  Isaacson  and  continued: 

"Are  you  going  anywhere  when  you  leave  here?" 

"  I  've  accepted  something  in  Chesham  Place.    Why  ? ' ' 

"Must  you  go  to  it?" 

"No." 

"Come  and  have  supper  with  me  at  the  Savoy." 

"Supper!  My  dear  Armine!  You  know  nowadays- 
we  doctors  are  preaching,  and  rightly  preaching,  less  eat- 
ing and  drinking  to  our  patients.  I  can  eat  nothing  till 
to-morrow  after  my  morning  ride." 

"But  you  can  sit  at  a  supper-table,  I  suppose?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can  do  that." 

"Come  and  sit  at  mine.  Let's  go  away  from  here 
together. ' ' 

"Certainly." 

"You  shall  see  whether  I  am  out  of  place  at  the  Savoy.'* 


S6  BELLA  DONNA 


At  a  quarter  to  eleven  that  night  Meyer  Isaacson  and 
Nigel  Armine  came  down  the  bit  of  carpet  that  was 
unrolled  to  the  edge  of  the  pavement  in  front  of  Lady 
Somerson's  door,  and  got  into  the  former's  electric 
brougham.    As  it  moved  off  noiselessly,  the  Doctor  said : 

"You  had  a  long  talk  with  Mrs.  Derringham  in  the 
drawing-room. ' ' 

"Yes,"  replied  Armine,  rather  curtly. 

He  relapsed  into  silence,  leaning  back  in  his  corner. 

"I  like  her,"  the  Doctor  continued,  after  a  pause. 

"Do  you?" 

"And  you— don't." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Because  I  feel  it;  I  gather  it  from  the  way  you  said 
'yes.'  " 

Armine  moved,  and  leaned  slightly  forwards. 

"Isn't  she  rather  mauvaise  langue?  ''  he  asked. 

"Mrs.  Derringham?    I  certainly  don't  think  her  so." 

"She's  one  of  the  disbelievers  in  women  you  spoke  of 
after  dinner;  one  of  the  traitresses  in  the  woman's  camp. 
Why  can't  women  hang  together?" 

"They  do  sometimes." 

"Yes,  when  there's  a  woman  to  be  hounded  down. 
They  hang  together  when  there's  a  work  of  destruction  on 
hand.  But  do  they  hang  together  when  there's  a  work 
of  construction  to  be  done?" 

"Do  you  mean  a  reputation  to  be  built  up?" 

Armine  pulled  his  moustache.  In  the  electric  light  Meyer 
Isaacson  could  see  that  his  blue  eyes  were  shining. 

"Because,"  Meyer  Isaacson  continued,  "if  you  do  mean 
that,  1  should  be  inclined  to  say  that  each  of  us  must  build 
up  his  or  her  reputation  individually  for  himself  or 
herself.'^ 

"We  need  help  in  nearly  all  our  buildings-up,  and 
how  often,  how  damnably  often,  we  don't  get  it!" 


BELLA  DONNA  S7 

* '  Was  Mrs.  Derringham  specially  down  upon  some  par- 
ticular woman  to-night?'* 

"Yes,  she  was." 

*'Do  you  care  to  tell  me  upon  whom?" 

* '  It  was  Mrs.  Chepstow. ' ' 

*'You  were  talking  about  Mrs.  Chepstow?'*  Isaacson 
said  slowly.    "The  famous  Mrs.  Chepstow?" 

"Famous!"  said  Armine.  "I  hardly  see  that  Mrs. 
Chepstow  is  a  famous  woman.  She  is  not  a  writer,  a  singer, 
a  painter,  an  actress.  She  does  nothing  that  I  ever  heard 
of.  I  shouldn't  call  such  a  woman  famous.  I  daresay  her 
name  is  known  to  lots  of  people.  But  this  is  the  age  of 
chatterboxes,  and  of  course " 

At  this  moment  the  brougham  rolled  on  to  the  rubber 
pavement  in  front  of  the  Savoy  Hotel  and  stopped  before 
the  entrance. 

As  he  was  getting  out  and  going  into  the  hall,  Meyer 
Isaacson  remembered  that  the  letter  Mrs.  Chepstow  had 
written  to  him  asking  for  an  appointment  had  been 
stamped  "Savoy  Hotel."  She  had  been  staying  at  the 
hotel  then.  Was  she  staying  there  now?  He  had  never 
heard  Armine  mention  her  before,  but  his  feminine  intui- 
tion suddenly  connected  Armine 's  words,  "  I  'm  very  happy 
at  the  Savoy,"  with  the  invitation  to  sup  there,  and  the 
conversation  about  Mrs.  Chepstow  just  reported  to  him 
by  his  friend.  Armine  knew  Mrs.  Chepstow.  They  were 
going  to  meet  her  in  the  restaurant  to-night.  Meyer  Isaac- 
son felt  sure  of  it. 

They  left  their  coats  in  the  cloak-room  and  made  their 
way  to  the  restaurant,  which  as  yet  was  almost  empty.  The 
maitre  d'hotel  came  forward  to  Armine,  bowing  and  smil- 
ing, and  showed  them  to  a  table  in  a  corner.  Meyer  Isaac- 
son saw  that  it  was  laid  for  only  two.  He  was  surprised, 
but  he  said  nothing,  and  they  sat  down. 

"I  really  can't  eat  supper,  Armine,"  he  said.  ** Don't 
order  it  for  me. ' ' 

"Have  a  little  soup,  ^t  least,  and  a  glass  of 
champagne  ? ' ' 


38  BELLA  DONNA 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  gave  an  order. 

' '  We  might  have  sat  in  the  hall,  but  it  is  more  amusing 
in  here.  Remember,  I  haven't  been  in  London — seen  the 
London  show — for  over  eight  months.  One  meets  a  lot 
of  old  friends  and  acquaintances  in  places  like  this." 

Meyer  Isaacson  opened  his  lips  to  say  that  Armine 
would  be  far  more  likely  to  meet  his  friends  during  the 
season  if  he  went  to  parties  in  private  houses.  America 
was  beginning  to  stream  in,  mingled  with  English  country 
people  **up"  for  a  few  days,  and  floating  representatives 
of  the  nations  of  the  earth.  In  this  heterogeneous  crowd 
he  saw  no  one  whom  he  knew,  and  Armine  had  not  so  far 
recognized  anybody.  But  he  shut  his  lips  without  speaking. 
He  realized  that  Armine  had  a  purpose  in  coming  to  the 
Savoy  to-night,  in  bringing  him.  For  some  reason  his 
friend  was  trying  to  mask  that  purpose,  but  it  must  almost 
immediately  become  apparent.  He  had  only  to  wait  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  doubtless  he  would  know  exactly  what 
it  was. 

A  waiter  brought  the  soup  and  the  champagne. 

*'If  any  of  the  patients  to  whom  I  have  strictly  for- 
bidden supper  should  see  me  now,"  said  the  Doctor,  "and 
if  they  should  divine  that  I  have  come  straight  from  a  long 
dinner ! — Armine,  I  am  making  a  heavy  sacrifice  on  friend- 
ship's  altar." 

"You  don't  see  any  patients,  I  hope?" 

"Not  as  yet,"  the  Doctor  answered. 

Almost  before  the  words  were  out  of  his  mouth,  he  saw 
Mrs.  Chepstow  at  some  distance  from  them,  coming  in  at 
the  door.  She  came  in  alone.  He  looked  to  see  her  escort, 
but,  to  his  surprise,  she  was  not  followed  by  any  one. 
Holding  herself  very  erect,  and  not  glancing  to  the  right 
or  left,  she  walked  down  the  room  escorted  by  the  mattre 
d'hotel,  passed  close  to  Armine  and  the  Doctor,  went  to  a 
small  table  set  in  the  angle  of  a  screen  not  far  off,  and  sat 
down  with  her  profile  turned  towards  them.  She  said  a 
few  words  to  the  mattre  d'hotel.  He  spoke  to  a  waiter, 
then  hurried  away.     ]\Irs.  Chepstow  sat  very  still  in  her 


BELLA  DONNA  39 

chair,  looking  down.  She  had  laid  a  lace  fan  beside  the 
knives  and  glasses  that  shone  in  the  electric  light.  Her 
right  hand  rested  lightly  on  it.  She  was  dressed  in  black, 
and  wore  white  gloves,  and  a  diamond  comb  in  her  fair,  dyed 
hair.  Her  strange,  colourless  complexion  looked  extra- 
ordinarily delicate  and  pure  from  where  the  two  friends 
were  sitting.  There  was  something  pathetic  in  its  white- 
ness, and  in  the  quiet  attitude  of  this  woman  who  sat 
quite  alone  in  the  midst  of  the  gay  crowd.  Many  people 
stared  at  her,  whispered  about  her,  were  obviously  sur- 
prised at  her  solitude;  but  she  seemed  quite  unconscious 
that  she  was  being  noticed.  And  there  was  a  curious  sim- 
plicity in  her  unconsciousness,  and  in  her  attitude,  which 
made  her  seem  almost  girlish  from  a  little  distance. 

' '  There  ^s  Mrs.  Chepstow, ' '  said  a  man  at  the  next  table 
to  Armine's,  bending  over  to  his  companion,  a  stout  and 
florid  specimen  from  the  City.  **And  absolutely  alone,  by 
Jove!'' 

''Couldn't  get  even  a  kid  from  Sandhurst  to-night,  I 
s'pose,"  returned  the  other.  ''I  wonder  she  comes  in  at 
all  if  she  can't  scrape  up  an  escort.  Wonder  she  has' the 
cheek  to  do  it." 

They  lowered  their  voices  and  leaned  nearer  to  each 
other.  Armine  lifted  his  glass  of  champagne  to  his  lips, 
sipped  it,  and  put  it  down. 

''If  you  do  see  any  patients,  you  can  explain  it's  all 
my  fault,"  he  said  to  the  Doctor.  "I  will  take  the  blame. 
But  surely  you  don 't  have  to  follow  all  your  prescriptions  ? ' ' 

His  voice  was  slightly  uneven  and  abstracted,  as  if  he 
were  speaking  merely  to  cover  some  emotion  he  was  deter- 
mined to  conceal. 

"No.  But  I  ought  to  set  an  example  of  reasonable  liv- 
ing, I  suppose." 

They  talked  for  a  few  minutes  about  health,  with  a 
curious  formality,  like  people  who  are  conscious  that  they 
are  being  critically  listened  to,  or  who  are,  too  consciously, 
listening  to  themselves.  Once  or  twice  Meyer  Isaacson 
glanced  across  the  room  to  Mrs.  Chepstow.    She  was  eating 


40  BELLA  DONNA 

her  supper  slowly,  languidly,  and  always  looking  down 
Apparently  she  had  not  seen  him  or  Armine.  Indeed,  she 
did  not  seem  to  see  any  one,  but  she  was  rather  sadly  uncon- 
scious of  her  surroundings.  The  Doctor  found  himself 
pitying  her,  then  denying  to  himself  that  she  merited  com- 
passion. With  many  others,  he  wondered  at  her  solitude. 
To  sup  thus  alone  in  a  crowded  restaurant  was  to  advertise 
her  ill  success  in  the  life  she  had  chosen,  her  abandonment 
by  man.  "Why  did  she  do  this  ?  He  could  not  then  divine, 
although  afterwards  he  knew.  And  he  was  quietly  aston- 
ished. Just  at  first  he  expected  that  she  would  presently 
be  joined  by  some  one  who  was  late.  But  no  one  came, 
and  no  second  place  was  laid  at  her  table. 

Conversation  flagged  between  Armine  and  him,  until 
the  former  presently  said : 

''I  want  to  introduce  you  to  some  one  to-night.*' 

''Yes?    Who  is  it?" 

He  asked,  but  he  already  knew. 

''Mrs.  Chepstow.'' 

The  Doctor  was  on  the  verge  of  saying  that  he  was 
already  acquainted  with  her,  when  Armine  added: 

''I  spoke  about  you  to  her,  and  she  told  me  she  had 
never  met  you. ' ' 

"When  was  that?" 

"Four  days  ago,  when  I  was  introduced  to  her,  and 
talked  to  her  for  the  first  time." 

The  Doctor  did  not  speak  for  a  minute.    Then  he  said : 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  be  presented  to  her." 

Although  he  was  remarkably  truthful  with  his  friends, 
he  was  always  absolutely  discreet  in  his  professional  capac- 
ity. He  did  not  know  whether  Mrs.  Chepstow  would  wish 
the  fact  of  her  having  consulted  him  about  her  health  to 
be  spoken  of.  Therefore  he  did  not  mention  it.  And  as 
Armine  knew  that  four  days  ago  Mrs.  Chepstow  and  ho 
were  strangers,  in  not  mentioning  it  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  his  friend  under  the  impression  that  they  were 
strangers  still. 

"She  is  staying  in  this  hotel,  and  is  sitting  over  there. 
But  of  course  you  know  her  by  sight,"  said  Armine. 


BELLA  DONNA  41 

* '  Oh,  yes,  I  have  seen  her  about. ' ' 

"I  think  you  will  like  her,  if  you  can  clear  your  mind 
of  any  prejudices  you  may  have  formed  against  her." 

* '  Why  should  I  be  prejudiced  against  Mrs.  Chepstow  ? '  * 

**  People  are.  No  one  has  a  good  Avord  for  her.  Both 
f^omen  and  men  speak  ill  of  her. ' ' 

From  the  tone  of  Armine's  voice  Meyer  Isaacson  knew 
that  this  fact  had  prejudiced  him  in  Mrs.  Chepstow's 
favour.  There  are  some  men  who  are  born  to  defend  lost 
causes,  who  instinctively  turn  towards  those  from  whom 
others  are  ostentatiously  turning  away,  moved  by  some 
secret  chivalry  which  blinds  their  reason,  or  by  a  passion 
of  simple  human  pity  that  dominates  their  hearts  and  casts 
a  shadow  over  the  brightness  of  their  intellects.  Of  these 
men  Nigel  Armine  was  one,  and  Meyer  Isaacson  knew  it. 
He  was  not  much  surprised,  therefore,  when  Armine  con- 
tinued : 

''They  see  only  the  surface  of  things,  and  judge  by 
what  they  see.  I  suppose  one  ought  not  to  condemn  them. 
But  sometimes  it's — it's  devilish  difficult  not  to  condemn 
cruelty,  especially  when  the  cruelty  is  directed  against  a 
woman.  Only  to-night  Mrs.  Derringham — and  you  say 
she's  a  good  sort  of  woman " 

"Very  much  so." 

*'Well,  she  said  to  me,  'For  such  women  as  Mrs. 
Chepstow  I  have  no  pity,  so  don't  ask  it  of  me,  Mr. 
Armine.'    What  a  confession,  Isaacson!" 

"Did  she  give  her  reasons?" 

"Oh,  yes,  she  tried  to.    She  said  the  usual  thing." 

"What  was  that?" 

* '  She  said  that  Mrs.  Chepstow  had  sold  herself  body  and 
soul  to  the  Devil  for  material  things;  that  she  was  the 
typical  greedy  woman." 

"And  did  she  indicate  exactly  what  she  meant  by  the 
typical  greedy  woman?" 

' '  Yes.  I  will  say  for  her  that  she  was  plain-spoken.  She 
said:  'The  woman  without  ideals,  without  any  feeling  for 
home  and  all  that  home  means,  the  one  man,  children,  peace 
found  in  unselfishness,  rest  in  work  for  others;  the  woman 


42  BELLA  DONNA 

who  betrays  the  reputation  of  her  sex  by  being  absolutely 
concentrated  upon  herself,  and  whose  desires  only  extend 
to  the  vulgar  satisfactions  brought  by  a  preposterous 
expenditure  of  money  on  clothes,  jewels,  yachts,  houses, 
motors,  everything  that  rouses  wonder  and  admiration  in 
utterly  second-rate  minds.'  '* 

* '  There  are  such  women. ' ' 

**  Perhaps  there  are.  But,  my  dear  Isaacson,  one  has 
only  to  look  at  Mrs.  Chepstow — with  unprejudiced  eyes, 
mind  you — to  see  that  she  could  never  be  one  of  them. 
Even  if  I  had  never  spoken  to  her,  I  should  know  that  she 
must  have  ideals,  could  never  not  have  them,  whatever  her 
life  is,  or  has  been.  Physiognomy  cannot  utterly  lie.  Look 
at  the  line  of  that  face.    Don't  you  see  what  I  mean?*' 

They  both  gazed  for  a  moment  at  the  lonely  woman. 

''There  is,  of  course,  a  certain  beauty  in  IVIrs.  Chep- 
stow's face,"  the  Doctor  said. 

"I  am  not  speaking  of  beauty;  I  am  speaking  of  ideal- 
ity, of  purity.  Don't  you  see  what  I  mean?  Now,  be 
honest. ' ' 

''Yes,  I  do.'' 

'  *  Ah ! ' '  said  Armine. 

The  exclamation  sounded  warmly  pleased. 

"But  that  look,  I  think,  is  a  question  merely  of  line, 
and  of  the  way  the  hair  grows.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
you  would  rather  judge  a  woman  by  that  than  by  the 
actions  of  her  life?" 

"No.  But  I  do  say  that  if  you  examined  the  life  of  a 
woman  with  a  face  like  that — the  real  life — you  would  be 
certain  to  find  that  it  had  not  been  devoid  of  actions  such 
as  you  would  expect,  actions  illustrating  that  look  of 
ideality  which  any  one  can  see.  What  does  Mrs.  Derring- 
ham  really  know  of  Mrs.  Chepstow  ?  She  is  not  personally 
acquainted  with  her,  even.  She  acknowledged  that.  She 
has  never  spoken  to  her,  and  doesn't  want  to." 

"That  scarcely  surprises  me,  I  confess,"  the  Doctor 
remarked. 

There  was  a  definite  dryness  in  his  tone,  and  Armine 
noticed  it 


BELLA  DONNA  43 

**You  are  prejudiced,  I  see,"  he  said. 

In  his  voice  there  was  a  sound  of  disappointment. 

"I  don't  exactly  know  why,  but  I  have  always  looked 
upon  you  as  one  of  the  most  fair-minded,  broad-minded 
men  I  have  met,  Isaacson,"  he  said.  ''Not  as  one  of  those 
who  must  always  hunt  with  the  hounds." 

''The  question  is,  "What  is  prejudice?  The  facts  of  a 
life  are  facts,  and  cannot  leave  one  wholly  uninfluenced 
for  or  against  the  liver  of  the  life.  If  I  see  a  man  beating 
a  dog  because  it  has  licked  his  hand,  I  draw  the  inference 
that  he  is  cruel.  "Would  you  say  that  I  am  narrow-minded 
in  doing  so?  If  one  does  not  judge  men  and  women  by 
their  actions,  by  what  is  one  to  judge  them?  Perhaps  you 
will  say,  'Don't  judge  them  at  all.'  But  it  is  impossible  not 
to  form  opinions  on  people,  and  every  time  one  forms  an 
opinion  one  passes  a  secret  judgment.    Isn  't  it  so  ?  " 

' '  I  think  feeling  enters  into  the  matter.  Often  one  gets 
an  immediate  impression,  before  one  knows  anything  about 
the  facts  of  a  life.  The  facts  may  seem  to  give  that  impres- 
sion the  lie.  But  is  it  wrong?  I  think  very  often  not.  I 
remember  once  I  heard  a  woman,  and  a  clever  woman,  say 
of  a  man  whom  she  knew  intimately,  'They  accuse  him  of 
such  and  such  an  act.  Well,  if  I  saw  him  commit  it,  I 
would  not  believe  he  had  done  it ! '  Absurd,  you  will  say. 
And  yet  is  it  so  absurd?  In  front  of  the  real  man  may 
there  not  be  a  false  man,  is  there  not  often  a  false  man,  like 
a  mask  over  a  face  ?  And  doesn  't  the  false  man  do  things 
that  the  real  man  condemns?  I  would  often  rather  judge 
with  my  heart  than  with  my  eyes,  Isaacson — yes,  I  would. 
That  woman  said  a  fine  thing  when  she  said  that,  and  she 
was  not  absurd,  though  every  one  who  heard  her  laughed 
at  her.  When  one  gets  what  one  calls  an  impression,  one's 
heart  is  speaking,  is  saying,  'This  is  the  truth.'  And  I 
believe  the  heart,  without  reasoning,  knows  what  the  truth 
is." 

"And  if  two  people  get  diametrically  different  impres- 
sions of  the  same  person?  What  then?  That  sometimes 
happens,  you  know. ' ' 

"I  don't  believe  you  and  I  could  ever  get  diametrically 


44  BELLA  DONNA 

different  impressions  of  a  person, ' '  said  Armine,  looking  at 
Mrs.  Chepstow ;  * '  and  to-night  I  can 't  bother  myself  about 
the  rest  of  the  world/' 

' '  Don 't  you  think  hearts  can  be  stupid  as  well  as  heads  ? 
I  do.  I  think  people  can  be  muddle-hearted  as  well  as 
muddle-headed. ' ' 

As  the  Doctor  spoke,  it  seemed  to  flash  upon  him  that  he 
was  passing  a  judgment  upon  his  friend — this  man  whom 
he  admired,  whom  he  almost  loved. 

**I  should  always  trust  my  heart,*'  said  Armine.  **But 
I  very  often  mistrust  my  head.  Won 't  you  have  any  more 
champagne  ? ' ' 

''No,  thank  you.'* 

''What  do  you  say  to  our  joining  Mrs.  Chepstow?  It 
must  be  awfully  dull  for  her,  supping  all  alone.  We  might 
go  and  speak  to  her.  If  she  doesn't  ask  us  to  sit  down,  we 
can  go  into  the  hall  and  have  a  cigar." 

"Very  well." 

There  was  neither  alacrity  nor  reluctance  in  Meyer 
Isaacson's  voice,  but  if  there  had  been,  Armine  would 
probably  not  have  noticed  it.  When  he  was  intent  on  a 
thing,  he  saw  little  but  that  one  thing.  Now  he  paid  the 
bill,  tipped  the  waiter,  and  got  up. 

"Come  along,"  he  said,  "and  I  will  introduce  you." 

lie  put  his  hand  for  an  instant  on  his  friend's  arm. 

"Clear  your  mind  of  prejudice,  Isaacson,"  he  said,  in 
a  low  voice.  "You  are  too  good  and  too  clever  to  be  one  of 
the  prejudiced  crowd.  Let  your  first  impression  be  a  true 
one." 

As  the  doctor  went  with  his  friend  to  Mrs.  Chepstow's 
table,  he  did  not  tell  him  that  first  impression  had  been 
already  formed  in  the  consulting-room  of  the  house  in 
Cleveland  Square. 


BELLA  DONNA  45 


*'Mrs.  Chepstow!'' 

At  the  sound  of  Nigel  Armine's  voice  Mrs.  Chepstow 
started  slightly,  like  a  person  recalled  abruptly  from  a 
reverie,  looked  up,  and  smiled. 

"You  are  here!  I'm  all  alone.  But  I  was  hungry,  so 
I  had  to  brave  the  rabble. ' ' 

' ' I  want  to  introduce  a  friend  to  you.    May  I ?' ' 

*'0f  course." 

Armine  moved,  and  Doctor  Isaacson  stood  by  Mrs. 
Chepstow. 

*' Doctor  Meyer  Isaacson,  Mrs.  Chepstow." 

The  Doctor  scarcely  knew  whether  he  had  expected  Mrs. 
Chepstow  to  recognize  him,  or  whether  he  had  anticipated 
what  actually  happened — her  slight  bow  and  murmured 
**I'm  delighted  to  meet  you."  But  he  did  know  that  he 
was  not  really  surprised  at  her  treatment  of  him  as  an 
entire  stranger.  And  he  was  glad  that  he  had  said  noth- 
ing to  Armine  of  her  visit  to  Cleveland  Square. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  sit  down  and  talk  to  me  for  a 
little?"  Mrs.  Chepstow  said.  "I'm  all  alone  and  horribly 
dull." 

"May  we?" 

Armine  drew  up  a  chair. 

"Sit  on  my  other  side.  Doctor  Isaacson.  I've  heard  a 
great  deal  about  you.  You've  made  perfect  cures  of  most 
of  my  enemies." 

There  was  not  the  least  trace  of  consciousness  in  her 
manner,  not  the  faintest  suspicion  of  embarrassment  in 
her  look,  and,  as  he  sat  down,  the  Doctor  found  himself 
admiring  the  delicate  perfection  of  her  deceit,  as  he  had 
sometimes  admired  a  subtle  nuance  in  the  performance  of 
some  great  French  actress. 

"You  ought  to  hate  me  then,"  he  said. 

"Why?    If  I  don't  hate  them?" 

"Don't  you  hate  your  enemies?"  asked  Armine. 


46  BELLA  DONNA 

'*No;  that's  a  weakness  in  me.  I  never  could  and  nevei 
shall.  Something  silly  inside  of  me  invariably  finds  ex- 
cuses for  people,  whatever  they  are  or  do.  I'm  always 
saj^ing  to  myself,  *They  don't  understand.  If  they  really 
knew  all  the  circumstances,  they  would 'nt  hate  me.  Per- 
haps they  'd  even  pity  me. '  Absurd !  A  mistake !  I  know 
that.  Such  feelings  stand  in  the  way  of  success,  because 
they  prevent  one  striking  out  in  one's  own  defence.  And 
if  one  doesn't  strike  out  for  oneself,  nobody  will  strike  out 
for  one." 

*'I  don't  think  that's  quite  true,"  Armine  said. 

**0h,  yes,  it  is.  If  you're  pugnacious,  people  think 
you're  plucky,  and  they're  ready  to  stand  up  for  you. 
Whereas, if  you  forgive  easily,  you're  not  easily  forgiven." 

*'If  that  is  so,"  Armine  said,  **why  don't  you  change 
your  tactics?" 

As  he  said  this,  he  glanced  at  Isaacson,  and  the  Doctor 
understood  that  he  was  seeking  to  display  to  his  friend 
what  he  believed  to  be  this  woman's  character. 

** Simply  because  I  can't.  I  am  what  I  am.  I  can't 
change  myself,  and  I  can't  act  in  defiance  of  the  little 
interior  voice.  I  often  try  to,  for  I  don't  pretend  in  the 
least  to  be  virtuous;  but  I  have  to  give  in.  I  know  it's 
weakness.  I  know  the  world  would  laugh  at  it.  But — - 
que  voulez-vousf — some  of  us  are  the  slaves  of  our  souls." 

The  last  sentence  seemed  almost  to  be  blurted  out,  so 
honestly  was  it  said.  But  instantly,  as  if  regretting  a 
sincere  indiscretion,  she  added: 

*' Doctor  Isaacson,  what  an  idiot  you  must  think  me!" 

*'Why,  Mrs.  Chepstow?" 

*'For  saying  that.  You,  of  course,  think  we  are  the 
slaves  of  our  bodies." 

**I  certainly  do  not  think  you  an  idiot,"  he  could  not 
help  saying,  with  significance. 

*' Isaacson  is  not  an  ordinary  doctor,"  said  Armine. 
**You  needn't  be  afraid  of  him." 

**I  don't  think  I'm  afraid  of  anybody,  but  one  doesn't 
want  to  make  oneself  absurd.  And  I  believe  I  often  am 
ab*«nrd  in  rating  the  body  too  low.    What  a  conversation !" 


BELLA  DONNA  47 

she  added,  smiling.  *'But,  as  I  was  all  alone  in  the  crowd, 
I  was  thinking  ot  all  sorts  of  things.  A  crowd  makes  one 
think  tremendously,  if  one  is  quite  alone.  It  stimulates  the 
brain,  I  suppose.  So  I  was  thinking  a  lot  of  rubbish  over 
my  solitary  meal. '  * 

She  looked  at  the  two  men  apologetically. 

''La  femme  pense/'  she  said,  and  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

Armine  drew  his  chair  a  little  nearer  to  her,  and  this 
action  suddenly  made  Doctor  Isaacson  realize  the  power 
that  still  dwelt  in  this  woman,  the  power  to  govern  certain 
types  of  men. 

*'And  the  man  acts,''  completed  Armine. 

*'And  the  woman  acts,  too,  and  better  than  the  man," 
the  Doctor  thought  to  himself. 

Again  his  admiration  was  stirred,  this  time  by  the 
sledge-hammer  boldness  of  Mrs.  Chepstow,  by  her  complete 
though  so  secret  defiance  of  himself. 

*'But  what  were  you  thinking  about?''  Armine  con- 
tinued, earnestly.  '*I  noticed  how  preoccupied  you  were 
even  when  you  came  into  the  room." 

''Did  you?  I  was  thinking  about  a  conversation  I  had 
this  afternoon.  Oddly  enough  " — she  turned  slowly 
towards  Meyer  Isaacson — ''it  W£is  with  a  doctor." 

' '  Indeed  ? "  he  said,  looking  her  full  in  the  face. 

"Yes." 

She  turned  away,  and  once  more  spoke  to  Armine. 

"I  went  this  afternoon  to  a  doctor,  Mr.  Armine,  to 
consult  him  about  a  friend  of  mine  who  is  ill  and  obstinate, 
and  we  had  a  most  extraordinary  talk  about  the  soul  and 
the  body.  A  sort  of  fight  it  was.  He  thought  me  a  typical 
silly  woman.    I'm  sure  of  that." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  suppose  I  took  a  sentimental  view  of  our 
subject.  We  women  always  instinctively  take  the  seuti- 
mental  view,  you  know.  My  doctor  was  severely  scientific 
and  frightfully  sceptical.  He  thought  me  an  absurd 
visionary. ' ' 

"And  what  did  you  think  him?" 


BELLA  DONNA 

' '  I  'm  afraid  I  thought  him  a  crass  materialist.  He  had 
doctored  the  body  until  he  was  able  to  believe  only  in  the 
body.  He  referred  everything  back  to  the  body.  Every 
emotion,  according  to  him,  was  only  caused  by  the  terminal 
of  a  nerve  vibrating  in  a  cell  contained  in  the  grey  matter 
of  the  brain.  I  dare  say  he  thinks  the  most  passionate 
love  could  be  operated  for.  And  as  to  any  one  having  an 
immortal  soul — well,  I  did  dare,  being  naturally  fearless, 
just  to  mention  the  possibility  of  my  possessing  such  a 
thing.    But  I  was  really  sorry  afterwards.*' 

'* Tell  us  why." 

^'Because  it  brought  upon  me  such  an  avalanche  of 
scorn  and  arguments.  I  didn't  much  mind  the  scorn,  but 
the  arguments  bored  me.'* 

**Did  they  convince  you?" 

* '  Mr.  Armine !  Now,  did  you  ever  know  a  woman  con- 
vinced of  anything  by  argument?" 

He  laughed. 

''Then  you  still  believe  that  you  have  an  immortal 
soul?" 

' '  More,  far  more,  than  ever. ' ' 

She  was  laughing,  too.  But,  quite  suddenly,  the  laughter 
died  out  of  her,  and  she  said,  with  an  earnest  face: 

**I  wouldn't  let  any  one — any  one — take  some  of  my 
beliefs  from  me." 

The  tone  of  her  voice  was  almost  fierce  in  its  abrupt 
doggedness. 

"I  must  have  some  coffee,"  she  added,  with  a  complete 
change  of  tone.  "I  sleep  horribly  badly,  and  that's  why  I 
take  coffee.    Mere  perversity !    Three  black  coffees,  waiter. '  * 

**Not  for  me!"  said  Meyer  Isaacson. 

*'You  must,  for  once.  I  hate  doing  things  alone.  There 
is  no  pleasure  in  anything  unless  some  one  shares  it.  At 
least ' ' — she  looked  at  Armine — * '  that  is  what  every  woman 
thinks." 

'  *  Then  how  unhappy  lots  of  women  must  be, ' '  he  said. 

**The  lonely  women.  Ah!  no  man  will  ever  know  how 
unhappy." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.    Something  in  the  sound 


BELLA  DONNA  49 

of  Mrs.  Chepstow  ^s  voice  as  she  said  the  last  words  almost 
compelled  a  silence. 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  been  with  her  that  night 
Meyer  Isaacson  felt  that  perhaps  he  had  caught  a  glimpse 
of  her  true  self,  had  drawn  near  to  the  essential  woman. 

The  waiter  brought  their  coffee,  and  Mrs.  Chepstow 
added,  with  a  little  laugh: 

"Even  a  meal  eaten  alone  is  no  pleasure  to  a  woman. 
To-night,  till  you  came  to  take  pity  upon  me,  I  should  have 
been  far  happier  with  'something  on  a  tray'  in  my  own 
room.  But  now  I  feel  quite  convivial.  Isn  't  the  coffee  here 
good?" 

Suddenly  she  looked  cheerful,  almost  gay.  Happiness 
seemed  to  blossom  within  her. 

''Never  mind  if  you  lie  awake  for  once.  Doctor  Isaac- 
son," she  continued,  looking  across  at  him.  "You  will 
have  done  a  good  action ;  you  will  have  cheered  up  a  human 
being  who  had  been  feeling  down  on  her  luck.  That  talk 
I  had  with  a  doctor  had  depressed  me  most  horribly, 
although  I  told  myself  that  I  didn't  believe  a  word  he 
said." 

Meyer  Isaacson  sipped  his  coffee  and  said  nothing. 

"I  think  one  of  the  wickedest  things  one  can  do  in  the 
world  is  to  try  to  take  any  comforting  and  genuine  belief 
away  from  the  believer,"  said  Armine,  with  energy. 

"Would  you  leave  people  even  in  their  errors?"  said 
the  Doctor.  "Suppose,  for  instance,  you  saw  some  one — 
some  friend — believing  in  a  person  whom  you  knew  to  be 
unworthy,  would  you  make  no  effort  to  enlighten  him?'* 

He  spoke  very  quietly — almost  carelessly.  Mrs.  Chep- 
stow fixed  her  big  blue  eyes  on  him  and  for  a  moment 
forgot  her  coffee. 

"Perhaps  I  should.    But  you  know  my  theory." 

"Oh— to  be  sure!" 

Meyer  Isaacson  smiled.  Mrs.  Chepstow  looked  from  one 
man  to  the  other  quickly. 

"What  theory?  Don't  make  me  feel  an  outsider,"  she 
said. 


50  BELLA  DONNA 

**Mr.  Armine  thinks — may  I,  Armine? 

*'0f  course." 

**  Thinks  that  belief  in  the  goodness,  the  genuineness  of 
people  helps  them  to  become  good,  genuine,  so  that  the 
unworthy  might  be  made  eventually  worthy  by  a  trust  at 
first  misplaced. ' ' 

**Mr.  Armine  is "    She  checked  herself.    **It  is  a 

pity  the  world  isn't  full  of  Mr.  Armines/'  she  said,  softly. 

Armine  flushed,  almost  boyishly. 

**I  wish  my  doctor  knew  you,  Mr.  Armine.  If  you 
create  by  believing,  I'm  sure  he  destroys  by  disbelieving." 

As  she  said  the  last  words,  her  eyes  met  Meyer  Isaac- 
son's, and  he  saw  in  them,  or  thought  he  saw,  a  defiance 
that  was  threatening. 

The  lights  winked.    Mrs.  Chepstow  got  up. 

*  *  They  're  going  to  turn  us  out.  Let  us  anticipate  them 
— ^by  going.  It's  so  dreadful  to  be  turned  out.  It  makes 
me  feel  like  Eve  at  the  critical  moment  of  her  career. ' ' 

She  led  the  way  from  the  big  room.  As  she  passed 
among  the  tables,  every  man,  and  almost  every  woman, 
turned  to  stare  at  her  as  children  stare  at  a  show.  She 
seemed  quite  unconscious  of  the  attention  she  attracted. 
But  when  she  bade  good  night  to  the  two  friends  in  the 
hall,  she  said: 

** Aren't  people  horrible  sometimes?  They  seem  to 
think  one  is — "  She  checked  herself.  *'I'm  a  fool!"  she 
said.  ''Good  night.  Thank  you  both  for  coming.  It  has 
done  me  good." 

** Don't  mind  those  brutes!"  Armine  almost  whispered 
to  her,  as  he  held  her  hand  for  a  moment.  ''Don't  think 
of  them.    Think  of — the  others." 

She  looked  at  him  in  silence,  nodded,  and  went  quietly 
away. 

Directly  she  had  gone  Meyer  Isaacson  said  to  his  friend : 

**Well,  good  night,  Armine.  I  am  glad  you're  back. 
Let  us  see  something  of  each  other." 

"Don't  go  yet.  Come  to  my  sitting-room  and  have  a 
smoke." 


BELLA  DONNA  51 

*  *  Better  not.  I  have  to  be  up  early.  I  ride  at  half -past 
seven. ' ' 

*a'll  ride  with  you,  then.'* 

**  To-morrow?'* 

**  Yes,  to-morrow.'* 

**But  have  you  got  any  horses  up?" 

*'No;  I'll  hire  from  Simonds.  Don't  wait  for  me,  but 
look  out  for  me  in  the  Row.    Good  night,  old  chap. ' ' 

As  they  grasped  hands  for  a  moment,  he  added: 

** Wasn't  I  right?" 

*^Right?" 

** About  her — Mrs.  Chepstow?  She  may  have  been 
driven  into  the  Devil's  hands,  but  don't  you  see,  don't  you 
feel,  the  good  in  her,  struggling  up,  longing  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  proclaim  itself,  to  take  the  reins  of  her  life  and 
guide  her  to  calm,  to  happiness,  to  peace?  I  pity  that 
woman,  Isaacson;  I  pity  her." 

*'Pity  her  if  you  like,"  the  Doctor  said,  with  a  strong 
emphasis  on  the  first  word,  ''but " 

He  hesitated.  Something  in  his  friend's  face  stopped 
him  from  saying  more,  told  him  that  perhaps  it  would  be 
much  wiser  to  say  nothing  more.  Opposition  drives  some 
natures  blindly  forward.  Such  natures  should  not  be 
opposed. 

''I  pity  Mrs.  Chepstow,  too,"  he  concluded.  "Poor 
woman!" 

And  in  saying  that  he  spoke  the  truth.    But  his  pity  for 
her  was  not  of  the  kind  that  is  akin  to  love. 

The  black  coffee  Mrs.  Chepstow  had  persuaded  Meyer 
Isaacson  to  take  kept  him  awake  that  night.  Like  some 
evil  potion,  it  banished  sleep  and  peopled  the  night  with 
a  rushing  crowd  of  thoughts.  Presently  he  did  not  even 
try  to  sleep.  He  gave  himself  to  the  crowd  with  a  sort  of 
half-angry  joy. 

In  the  afternoon  he  had  been  secretly  puzzled  by  Mrs. 
Chepstow.  He  had  wondered  what  under-reason  she  had 
for  seeking  an  interview  with  him.  Now  he  surely  knew  that 
reason.    Unless  he  was  wrong,  unless  he  misunderstood  her 


52  BELLA  DONNA 

completely,  she  had  come  to  make  a  curiously  audacious 
coup.  She  had  seen  Nigel  Armine,  she  had  read  his  strange 
nature  rightly;  she  had  divined  that  in  him  there  was  a 
man  who,  unlike  most  men,  instinctively  loved  to  go  against 
the  stream,  who  instinctively  turned  towards  that  which 
most  men  turned  from.  She  had  seen  in  him  the  born 
espouser  of  lost  causes. 

She  was  a  lost  cause.    Armine  was  her  opportunity. 

Armine  had  talked  to  her  four  days  ago  of  Meyer  Isaac- 
son. The  Doctor  guessed  how,  knowing  the  generous  enthu- 
siasm of  his  friend.  And  she,  a  clever  woman,  made  dis- 
trustful by  misfortune,  had  come  to  Cleveland  Square,  led 
by  feminine  instinct,  to  spy  out  this  land  of  which  she  had 
heard  so  much.  The  Doctor's  sensation  of  being  examined, 
while  he  sat  with  Mrs.  Chepstow  in  his  consulting-room, 
had  been  well-founded.  The  patient  had  been  reading  the 
Doctor,  swiftly,  accurately.  And  she  had  acted  promptly 
upon  the  knowledge  of  him  so  rapidly  acquired.  She  had 
** given  herself  away"  to  him;  she  had  showTi  herself  to 
him  as  she  was.  Why?  To  shut  his  mouth  in  the  future. 
The  revelation,  such  as  it  was,  had  been  made  to  him  as  a 
physician,  under  the  guise  of  described  symptoms.  She 
had  told  him  the  exact  truth  of  herself  in  his  consulting- 
room,  in  order  that  he  might  not  tell  others — tell  Nigel 
Armine — ^what  that  truth  was. 

Her  complete  reliance  upon  her  own  capacity  for  read- 
ing character  surprised  and  almost  delighted  the  Doctor. 
For  there  was  something  within  him  which  loved  strength 
and  audacity,  which  could  appreciate  them  artistically  at 
their  full  value.  She  had  given  a  further  and  a  fuller  illus- 
tration of  her  audacity  that  evening  in  the  restaurant. 

Now,  in  the  night,  he  could  see  her  white  face,  the  look 
in  her  brilliant  eyes  above  the  painted  shadows,  as  she  told 
to  Nigel  the  series  of  lies  about  the  interview  in  Cleveland 
Square,  putting  herself  in  the  Doctor's  place,  him  in  her 
own.  She  had  enjoyed  doing  that,  enjoyed  it  intellectually. 
And  she  had  forced  the  Doctor  to  dance  to  her  piping.  He 
had  been  obliged  to  join  her  in  her  deceit — almost  to  back 
her  up  in  it. 


BELLA  DONNA  53 

He  knew  now  why  she  had  been  alone  at  her  table,  why- 
she  had  advertised  her  ill  success  in  the  life  she  had  chosen, 
her  present  abandonment  by  men.  This  had  been  done  to 
strike  at  Armine's  peculiar  temperament.  It  was  a  very 
clever  stroke. 

But  it  was  a  burning  of  her  boats. 

Meyer  Isaacson  frowned  in  the  night. 

A  woman  like  Mrs.  Chepstow  does  not  burn  her  boats 
for  nothing.  How  much  did  she  expect  to  gain  by  that 
nacrifice  of  improper  pride,  a  pride  almost  dearer  than  life 
to  a  woman  of  her  type  ?  The  quid  pro  quo — what  was  it 
to  be? 

He  feared  for  Nigel,  as  he  lay  awake  while  the  night 
drew  on  towards  dawn. 


VI 

Mrs.  Chepstow's  sitting-room  at  the  Savoy  was  deco- 
rated with  pink  and  green  in  pale  hues  which  suited 
well  her  present  scheme  of  colour.  In  it  there  was  a  little 
rosewood  piano.  Upon  that  piano's  music-desk,  on  the 
following  day,  stood  a  copy  of  Elgar's  ''Dream  of  Geron- 
tius,"  open  at  the  following  words : 

"  Proficiscere,  anima  Christiana,  de  hoc  mundo !  Go  forth 
upon  thy  journey,  Christian  soul !     Go  from  this  world ! '' 

Scattered  about  the  room  were  The  Nineteenth  Cen* 
tury  and  After,  The  Quarterly  Review,  the  Times,  and 
several  books;  among  them  Goethe's  ''Faust,"  Maspero's 
"Manual  of  Egyptian  Archaeology,"  "A  Companion  to 
Greek  Studies,"  Guy  de  Maupassant's  "Fort  Comme  la 
Mort,"  D'Annunzio's  "Trionfo  della  Morte,"  and  Haw- 
thorne's "Scarlet  Letter."  There  was  also  a  volume  of 
Emerson 's  ' '  Essays. "  In  a  little  basket  under  the  writing- 
table  lay  the  last  number  of  The  Winning  Post,  carefully 
destroyed.  There  were  a  few  pink  roses  in  a  vase.  In  a 
cage  some  canary-birds  were  singing.  The  furniture  had 
been  pulled  about  by  a  clever  hand  until  the  room  had 
lost  something  of  its  look  of  a  room  in  a  smart  hotel. 


54  BELLA  DONNA 

The  windows  were  wide  open  on  to  the  balcony.  They 
dominated  the  Thames  Embankment,  and  a  light  breeze 
from  the  water  stirred  the  white  and  green  curtains  that 
framed  them. 

Into  this  pretty  and  peacefully  cheerful  chamber  Nigel 
Armine  was  shown  by  a  waiter  at  five  o'clock  precisely, 
and  left  with  the  promise  that  Mrs.  Chepstow  should  be 
informed  of  his  arrival. 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  the  German  waiter's 
back,  Nigel  stood  for  a  moment  looking  around  him.  This 
was  the  first  visit  he  had  paid  to  Mr3.  Chepstow.  He  sought 
for  traces  of  her  personality  in  this  room  in  which  she 
lived.  He  thought  it  looked  unusually  cosy  for  a  room  in 
an  hotel,  although  he  did  not  discover,  as  Isaacson  would 
have  discovered  in  a  moment,  that  the  furniture  had  been 
deftly  disarranged.  His  eyes  roved  quickly:  no  photo- 
graphs, no  embroideries,  one  or  two  extra  cushions,  birds, 
a  few  perfect  roses,  a  few  beautifully  bound  books,  the 
windows  widely  opened  to  let  the  air  stream  in.  And  there 
was  an  open  piano !    He  went  over  to  it  and  bent  down. 

"  Proficiscere,  anima  Christiana,  de  hoc  mundo !  Go  forth 
upon  thy  journey,  Christian  soul !     Go  from  this  world ! '' 

So  she  loved  *  *  Gerontius, ' '  that  intimate  musical  expres- 
sion of  the  wonder  and  the  strangeness  of  the  Soul!  He 
did  not  remember  he  had  told  her  that  he  loved  it.  He 
stood  gazing  at  the  score.  The  light  wind  came  in  from 
the  river  far  dowTi  below,  and  the  curtains  made  a  faint 
sound  as  they  moved.  The  canaries  chirped  intermittently. 
But  Nigel  heard  the  voice  of  a  priest  by  the  side  of  one  who 
was  dying.  And  as  he  looked  at  the  chords  supporting  the 
notes  on  which  the  priest  bade  the  soul  of  the  man  return 
to  its  Maker,  he  seemed  to  hear  them,  as  he  had  heard  them, 
played  by  a  great  orchestra;  to  feel  the  mysterious,  the 
terrible,  yet  beautiful  act  of  dissolution. 

He  started.  He  had  launched  himself  into  space  with 
the  soul.  Now,  abruptly,  he  was  tethered  to  earth  in  the 
body.  Had  he  not  heard  the  murmur  of  a  dress  announcing 
the  coming  of  its  wearer?    He  looked  towards  the  second 


BELLA  DONNA  55 

,  )or  of  the  room,  which  opened  probably  into  a  bedroom. 
It  was  shut,  and  remained  shut.  He  came  away  from  the 
piano.  What  books  was  she  fond  of  reading!  Emerson — ■ 
optimism  in  boxing-gloves;  Maspero — she  was  interested, 
then,  in  things  Eg^^ptian.  "Faust" — De  Maupassant — 
D  'Annunzio — Hawthorne,  * '  The  Scarlet  Letter. ' '  He  took 
this  last  book,  which  was  small  and  bound  in  white,  into 
his  hand.  He  had  known  it  once.  He  had  read  it  long  ago. 
Now  he  opened  it,  glanced  quickly  through  its  pages.  Hester 
Prynne,  Arthur  Dinunesdale — suddenly  he  remembered 
the  story,  the  sin  of  the  flesh,  the  scarlet  letter  that  branded 
the  sin  upon  the  woman's  breast  while  the  man  went 
unpunished. 

And  Mrs.  Chepstow  had  it,  bound  in  white. 

*'Are  you  judging  my  character  by  my  books?*' 

A  warm  and  careless  voice  spoke  behind  him.  She  had 
come  in  and  was  standing  close  to  him,  dressed  in  white, 
with  a  black  hat,  and  holding  a  white  parasol  in  her  hand. 
In  the  sunshine  she  looked  even  fairer  than  by  night.  Her 
pale  but  gleaming  hair  was  covered  by  a  thin  veil,  which 
she  kept  down  as  she  greeted  Nigel. 

"Not  judging,"  he  said,  as  he  held  her  hand  for  a 
moment.    "Guessing,  perhaps,  or  guessing  at." 

"Which  is  it?  'The  Scarlet  Letter'!  I  got  it  a  year 
ago.  I  read  it.  And  when  I  had  read  it,  I  sent  it  to  be 
bound  in  white. ' ' 

"Why  was  that?" 

"  'Though  your  sin  shall  be  as  scarlet/  "  she  quoted. 
He  was  silent,  looking  at  her. 

"Let  us  have  tea." 

As  she  spoke,  she  went,  with  her  slow  and  careless  walk 
which  Isaacson  had  noticed,  towards  the  fireplace,  and 
touched  the  electric  bell.  Then  she  sat  down  on  a  sofa 
close  to  the  cage  of  the  canary-birds,  and  with  her  back  to 
the  light. 

"I  suppose  you  are  fearfully  busy  with  engagements," 
she  continued,  as  he  came  to  sit  down  near  her.  "Most 
people  are,  at  this  time  of  year.     One  ought  to  be  truly 


56  BELLA  DONNA 

grateful  for  even  five  minutes  of  anybody 's  time.  I  remem- 
ber, ages  ago,  when  I  was  one  of  the  busy  ones,  I  used  to 
expect  almost  servile  thankfulness  for  any  little  minute  I 
doled  out.    How  things  change  !* ' 

She  did  not  sigh,  but  laughed,  and,  without  giving  him 
time  to  speak,  added: 

** Which  of  my  other  books  did  you  look  at?" 

'  *  I  saw  you  had  Maspero. ' ' 

*'0h,  I  got  that  simply  because  I  had  met  you.  It 
turned  my  mind  towards  Egypt,  which  I  have  never  seen, 
although  I've  yachted  all  over  the  place.  Last  night,  after 
we  had  said  good  night,  I  couldn  't  sleep ;  so  I  sat  here  and 
read  Maspero  for  a  while,  and  thought  of  your  Egyptian 
life.  I  didn't  mean  to  be  impertinent.  One  has  to  think 
of  something." 

' '  Impertinent ! ' ' 

Her  tone,  though  light,  had  surely  been  coloured  with 
apology. 

*'Well,  people  are  so  funny — now.  I  remember  the 
time  when  lots  of  them  were  foolish  in  the  opposite  way. 
If  I  thought  of  them,  they  seemed  to  take  it  as  an  honour. 
But  then  I  wasn't  thirty-eight,  and  I  was  in  society." 

The  German  waiter  came  in  with  tea.  When  he  had 
arranged  it  and  gone  out,  Nigel  said,  with  a  certain  diffi- 
dence : 

*'I  wonder  you  don't  live  in  the  country." 

*'I  know  what  you  mean.  But  you're  wrong.  One  feels 
even  more  out  of  it  there.'* 

She  gave  him  his  cup  gently,  with  a  movement  that 
implied  care  for  his  comfort,  almost  a  thoughtful,  happy 
service. 

"The  Hector  is  embarrassed,  his  wife  appalled.  The 
Doctor's  'lady,'  much  as  she  longs  for  one's  guineas,  tries 
to  stop  him  even  from  attending  one's  dying  bed.  The 
Squire,  though  secretly  interested  to  fervour,  is  of  course  a 
respectable  man.  He  is  a  'stay'  to  country  morality,  and 
his  wife  is  a  pair  of  stays.  The  neighbours  respond  in  their 
dozens  to  the  mot  d^ordre,  and  there  one  is  plant ee,  like 


BELLA  DONNA  57 

onely  white  moon  encircled  by  a  halo  of  angry  fire.  Dear 
ncquaintance,  I've  tried  it.  Egypt — Omaha — anything 
".vould  be  better.  What  are  you  eating  ?  Have  one  of  these 
little  cakes.  They  really  are  good.  I  ordered  them 
specially  for  you  and  our  small  festivity. ' ' 

She  was  smiling  as  she  handed  him  the  plate. 

"I  should  think  Egypt  would  be  better!''  exclaimed 
Nigel,  with  a  strength  and  a  vehemence  that  contrasted 
almost  startlingly  with  her  light,  half-laughing  tone. 
"Why  don't  you  go  there?  Why  don't  you  try  the  free 
life?" 

*'Live  among  the  tribes,  like  Lady  Hester  Stanhope  in 
the  Lebanon?  I'm  afraid  I  could  never  train  myself  to 
wear  a  turban.  Besides,  Egypt  is  fearfully  civilized  now. 
Every  one  goes  there.    I  should  be  cut  all  up  the  Nile." 

The  brutality  of  her  frankness  startled  and  almost 
pained  him.  For  a  moment,  in  it  he  seemed  to  discern  a 
lack  of  taste. 

''You  are  right,"  she  said;  and  suddenly  the  lightness 
died  away  altogether  from  her  voice.  "But  how  is  one  not 
to  get  blunted?  And  even  long  ago  I  always  hated  pre- 
tence. Women  are  generally  pretending.  And  they  are 
wise.  I  have  never  been  wise.  If  I  were  wise,  I  should  not 
let  you  see  my  lonely,  stupid,  undignified  situation." 

Suddenlj^  she  turned  so  that  the  light  from  the  window 
fell  full  upon  her,  and  lifted  her  veil  up  over  the  brim  of 
her  hat. 

'*Nor  my  face,  upon  which,  of  course,  must  be  written 
all  sorts  of  worries  and  sorrows.  But  I  couldn't  pretend 
at  eighteen,  nor  can  I  at  thirty-eight.  No  wonder  so  many 
men — the  kind  of  men  you  meet  at  your  club,  at  the  Marl- 
borough, or  the  Bachelors',  or  the  Travellers' — call  me  an 
'ass  of  a  woman.'  I  am  an  ass  of  a  woman,  a  little — 
little— ass." 

In  saying  the  very  last  words  all  the  severity  slipped 
away  out  of  her  voice,  and  as  she  smiled  again  and  moved 
her  head,  emphasizing  humorously  her  own  reproach  to 
herself,  she  looked  almost  a  girl. 


58  BELLA  DONNA 

**The  'little'  applies  to  my  mind,  of  course,  not  to  my 
body;  or  perhaps  I  ought  to  say  to  my  soul,  instead  of  to 
my  body." 

**No,  *  little'  would  be  the  wrong  adjective  for  your 
soul, ' '  Nigel  said. 

Mrs.  Chepstow  looked  touched,  and  turned  once  more 
away  from  the  light,  after  Nigel  had  noticed  that  she  looked 
touched. 

''Have  you  seen  your  friend,  Doctor  Isaacson,  to-day?" 
she  said,  seeming  to  make  an  effort  in  changing  the  conver- 
sation. "I  like  that  man,  though  usually  I  dislike  Jews 
because  of  their  love  for  money.  I  like  him,  and  somehow 
I  feel  as  if  he  had  liked  me  the  other  night,  as  if  he  had 
felt  kindly  towards  me.'' 

"Isaacson  is  a  splendid  fellow.  I  haven't  seen  him 
again.  He  has  been  called  away  by  a  case.  We  were  to 
have  ridden  together  this  morning,  but  he  sent  to  say  it 
was  impossible.    He  has  gone  into  the  country." 

"Will  he  be  away  long?" 

' '  I  don 't  know.    I  hope  not.    I  want  him  here  badly. ' ' 

"Oh?" 

"I  mean  that  he's  congenial  to  me  in  many  ways,  and 
that  congenial  spirits  are  rare." 

"You  must  have  troops  of  friends.  You  are  a  man's 
man. ' ' 

"I  don't  know.    What  is  a  man's  man?" 

"A  man  like  you." 

"And  a  woman's  man?"  he  asked,  drawing  his  chair  a 
little  towards  her. 

"Every  man's  man  is  a  woman's  man." 

"You  say  you  cannot  pretend.    Cannot  you  flatter?" 

"I  can  pretend  to  that  extent,  and  sometimes  do.  But 
why  should  I  flatter  you?  I  don't  believe  you  care  a  bit 
about  it.  You  love  a  kindly  truth.  Who  doesn't?  I've 
just  told  you  a  kindly  truth." 

"I  should  like  to  tell  you  some  kindly  truths,"  he  said. 

"I'm  afraid  there  are  not  many  you,  or  any  one  else, 
could  tell.    I  dare  say  there  are  one  or  two,  though,  for  I 


BELLA  DONNA  59 

believe  there  is  in  every  one  of  us  a  little  bit — almost 
infinitesimal,  perhaps — of  ineradicable  good,  a  tiny  flame 
which  no  amount  of  drenching  can  ever  extinguish." 

"1  know  it." 

*'0h,  but  it  does  want  cherishing — cherishing — cherish- 
ing all  the  time,  the  tiny  flame  of  ineradicable  good." 

She  took  his  cup  quickly,  and  began  to  pour  out  some 
more  tea  for  him,  like  one  ashamed  of  an  outburst  and 
striving  to  cover  it  up  by  action. 

*' Bring  Doctor  Isaacson  to  see  me  one  day — if  he'll 
come, ' '  she  said,  in  a  changed,  cool  voice,  the  non-committal 
voice  of  the  trained  woman  of  the  world. 

He  felt  that  the  real  woman  had  for  an  instant  risen 
to  the  surface,  and  had  sunk  again  into  the  depths  of  her; 
that  she  was  almost  ashamed  of  this  real,  good  woman. 
And  he  longed  to  tell  her  so,  to  say  to  her,  *' Don't  be 
ashamed.  Let  me  see  the  real  woman,  the  good  woman. 
That  is  the  woman  I  seek  when  I  am  near  you."  But  he 
did  not  dare  to  strike  a  blow  on  her  reserve. 

*'I  will  bring  Isaacson,"  he  said,  quietly.  **I  want 
him  to  know  you  really.    "Why  are  you  smiling?" 

''But — I  am  not  smiling!" 

Nor  was  she ;  and,  seeing  her  quiet  gravity  and  wonder, 
he  was  surprised  that  he  had  imagined  it. 

''I  must  tell  you,"  she  said,  ''that  though  I  took  such 
a  fancy  to  Doctor  Isaacson,  I  don't  think  he  is  like  you;  I 
don't  think  he  is  a  psychologist." 

"You  think  me  a  psychologist?"  said  Nigel,  in  very 
honest  surprise. 

"Yes,  and  I'll  tell  you  why,  if  you'll  promise  not  to 
be  offended." 

"Please — please  do." 

"I  think  one  reads  character  as  much  with  the  eyes  of 
the  heart  as  with  the  eyes  of  the  brain.  You  use  two  pairs 
of  eyes  in  your  reading.  But  I  am  not  sure  that  Doctor 
Isaacson  does." 

"Why  did  you  ask  me  not  to  be  offended?  You  meant 
to  put  it  differently.     And  you  would  have  been  right. 


60  BELLA  DONNA 

Isaacson  is  a  brilliant  man,  and  I  am  not.  But  he  has  as 
much  heart  as  I,  although  he  has  so  much  more  brain  than 
I.    And  the  stronger  each  is,  the  better  for  a  man.'* 

"But  the  brain — oh,  it  has  such  a  tendency  to  over- 
shadow, to  browbeat  the  heart.  In  its  strength  it  so  often 
grows  arrogant.  The  juste  milieu — I  think  you  have  it. 
Be  content,  and  never  let  your  brain  cry  out  for  more,  lest 
your  heart  should  have  to  put  up  with  less.'* 

''You  think  too  well  of  me,"  he  said;  "much  too  well.'* 

She  leaned  forward  over  the  tea-table  and  looked  at 
him  closely,  with  the  peculiar  scrutiny  of  one  so  strongly 
concentrated  upon  the  matter  in  hand  as  to  be  absolutely 
unself-conscious. 

"I  wonder  if  I  do,"  she  said;  and  he  felt  as  if  she 
were  trying  to  drag  the  very  heart  out  of  him  and  to  see 
how  it  was  beating.    "I  wonder  if  I  do." 

She  relaxed  her  muscles,  which  had  been  tense,  and 
leaned  back,  letting  her  right  hand,  which  for  a  moment 
had  grasped  the  edge  of  the  table,  drop  down  on  to  her 
lap. 

"It  may  be  so.  I  do  think  well  of  you.  That  is  certain. 
And  I  'm  afraid  I  think  very  often  badly  of  men.  And  yet 
I  do  try  to  judge  fairly,  and  not  only  to  put  on  the  black 
cap  because  of  my  own  unfortunate  experiences.  There 
are  such  splendid  men — but  there  are  such  utter  brutes. 
You  must  know  that.  And  yet  I  doubt  if  a  man  ever 
Imows  how  good,  or  how  bad,  another  man  can  be.  Per- 
haps one  must  be  a  woman  thoroughly  to  know  a  man — 
man,  the  beast  and  the  angel." 

"I  dare  say  that  is  true." 

Pie  spoke  almost  with  conviction.  For  all  the  time  he 
had  been  with  her  he  had  been  companioned  by  a  strange, 
unusual  feeling  of  being  understood,  of  having  the  bettor 
part  of  him  rightly  appraised,  and  even  too  greatly  appre- 
ciated. And  this  feeling  had  warmed  his  mind  and  heart 
almost  as  a  generous  wine  warms  the  body. 

"I'm  sure  it  is  true." 

He  put  down  his  cup.     Suddenly  there  had  come  to 


BELLA  DONNA  61 

him  the  desire  to  go  away,  to  be  alone.  He  saw  the  cur- 
tains moving  gently  by  the  windows,  and  heard  the  distant, 
softened  sound  of  the  voices  and  the  traffic  of  the  city. 
And  he  thought  of  the  river,  and  the  sunset,  and  the  barges 
swinging  on  the  hurrying  tide,  and  of  the  multitudes  of 
eddies  in  the  water.  Like  those  eddies  were  the  thoughts 
within  his  mind,  the  feelings  within  his  heart.  Were  they 
not  being  driven  onwards  by  the  current  of  time,  onwards 
towards  the  spacious  sea  of  action?  Abruptly  his  heart 
was  invaded  by  a  longing  for  largeness,  a  longing  that  was 
essential  in  his  nature,  but  that  sometimes  lay  quiescent, 
for  largeness  of  view,  such  as  the  Bedouin  has  upon  the 
desert  that  he  loves  and  he  belongs  to ;  largeness  of  emotion, 
largeness  of  action.  Largeness  was  manliness — largeness 
of  thinking  and  largeness  of  living.  Not  the  drawing-room 
of  the  world,  but  the  desert  of  the  world,  with  its  exquisite 
oases,  was  the  right  place  for  a  man.  Yet  here  he  was  in 
a  drawing-room.  At  this  moment  he  longed  to  go  out 
from  it.  But  he  longed  also  to  catch  this  woman  by  the 
hand  and  draw  her  out  with  him.  And  he  remembered 
how  Browning,  the  poet,  had  loved  a  woman  who  lay 
always  in  a  shrouded  room,  too  ill  to  look  on  the  sunshine 
or  breathe  the  wide  airs  of  the  world;  and  how  he  carried 
her  away  and  took  her  to  the  peaks  of  the  Apennines.  The 
mere  thought  of  such  a  change  in  a  life  was  like  a  cry  of 

joy- 

''What  is  it?"  said  Mrs.  Chepstow,  surprised  at  the 
sudden  radiance  in  Nigel's  face,  seeing  before  her  for  the 
first  time  a  man  she  could  not  read,  but  a  man  whose 
physique  now  forcibly  appealed  to  her — seemed  to  become 
splendid  under  some  inward  influence,  as  a  half-naked 
athlete's  does  when  he  slowly  fills  his  lungs,  clenches  his 
fists,  and  hardens  all  his  muscles.    ' '  What  is  it  ? " 

But  he  did  not  tell  her.  He  could  not  tell  her.  And 
he  got  up  to  go  away.  As  he  passed  the  piano,  he  looked 
again  at  the  score  of  ''The  Dream  of  Gerontius." 

"Are  you  fond  of  that?''  he  asked  her. 

' '  What  ?     Oh—'  Gerontius  '  ' ' 


62  BELLA  DONNA 

She  let  her  eyes  rest  for  a  brief  instant  on  his  face. 

*'I  love  it.  It  carries  me  away — as  the  soul  is  carried 
away  by  the  angel.  '  This  child  of  clay  to  me  was  given ' — 
do  you  remember  ?  *  * 

"Yes.'^ 

He  bade  her  good-bye.  The  last  thing  he  looked  at  in 
her  room  was  * '  The  Scarlet  Letter, '  *  bound  in  white,  lying 
upon  her  table.  And  he  glanced  from  it  to  her  before  he 
went  out  and  shut  the  door. 

Just  outside  in  the  corridor  he  met  a  neatly  dressed 
French  girl,  whose  eyes  were  very  red.  She  had  evidently 
been  crying  long  and  bitterly.  She  carried  over  her  arm  the 
skirt  of  a  gown,  and  she  went  into  the  room  which  com- 
municated with  Mrs.  Chepstow's  sitting-room. 

*'Poor  girl!"  thought  Nigel.  *'I  wonder  what's  the 
matter  with  her.*' 

He  went  on  down  the  corridor  to  the  lift,  descended, 
and  made  his  way  to  the  Thames  Embankment. 

"When  the  door  shut  behind  him,  Mrs.  Chepstow  re- 
mained standing  for  a  minute  near  the  piano,  waiting,  like 
one  expectant  of  a  departing  guest's  return.  But  Nigel 
did  not  come  back  to  say  any  forgotten,  final  word.  Pres- 
ently she  realized  that  she  was  safely  alone,  and  she  went 
to  the  piano,  sat  down,  and  struck  the  chords  which  sup- 
ported the  notes  on  which  the  priest  dismissed  the  soul. 
But  she  only  played  them  for  a  moment.  Then,  taking 
the  music  off  the  stand  and  throwing  it  on  the  floor,  she 
began  to  play  a  Spanish  dance,  lascivious,  alluring,  as 
full  of  the  body  as  the  music  of  Elgar  is  full  of  the  soul. 
And  she  played  it  very  well,  as  well,  almost,  as  a  hot- 
blooded  girl  of  Seville  could  have  danced  it.  As  she  drew 
near  the  end,  she  heard  a  sound  in  the  adjoining  room,  and 
she  stopped  abruptlv  and  called  out: 

^'Henriette!" 

There  was  no  reply. 

*  *  Henriette ! "  Mrs.  Chepstow  called  again. 

The  door  of  the  bedroom  opened,  and  the  French  girl 
with  red  eyes  appeared. 


BELLA  DONNA  63 

**Why  don't  you  answer  when  I  speak  to  you?  How 
long  have  you  been  there  T' 

''Two  or  three  minutes,  madame/'  said  the  girl,  in  a 
low  voice. 

**Did  you  meet  any  one  in  the  corridor?'* 

**Yes,  madame,  a  gentleman.'' 

** Coming  from  here?" 

''Yes,  madame." 

''Did  he  see  you?" 

*  *  Naturally,  madame. ' ' 

"I  mean — to  notice  you?" 

"I  think  he  did,  madame." 

"And  did  he  see  you  go  into  my  room — ^with  those 
eyes?" 

"Yes,  madame." 

An  angry  frown  contracted  Mrs.  Chepstow's  forehead, 
and  her  face  suddenly  became  hard  and  looked  almost  old. 

"Heavens!"   she   exclaimed.      "If   there   is   a   stupid 

thing   to   be    done,   you   are   sure   to Go   away!   go 

away ! ' ' 

The  maid  retreated  quickly,  and  shut  the  door. 

"Idiot!"  Mrs.  Chepstow  muttered. 

She  knew  the  value  of  a  last  impression. 

She  went  out  on  to  her  balcony  and  looked  down  to  the 
Embankment,  idly  watching  the  traffic,  the  people  walk- 
ing by. 

Although  she  did  not  know  it,  Nigel  was  among  them. 
He  was  strolling  by  the  river.  He  was  looking  at  the 
sunset.  And  he  was  thinking  of  the  poet  Browning,  and  of 
the  woman  whom  love  took  from  the  shrouded  chamber 
and  set  on  the  mountain  peaks. 


64  BELLA  DONNA 


VII 


Although  Nigel  Armine  was  an  enthusiast,  and  what 
many  people  called  an  "original/'  he  was  also  a  man  of 
the  world.  He  knew  the  trend  of  the  world's  opinion,  he 
realized  clearly  how  the  world  regarded  any  actions  that 
were  not  worldly.  The  fact  that  often  he  did  not  care 
did  not  mean  that  he  did  not  know.  He  was  no  ignorant 
citizen,  and  in  his  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Chepstow  his 
worldly  knowledge  did  not  forsake  him.  Clearly  he  under- 
stood how  the  average  London  man — the  man  he  met  at 
his  clubs,  at  Ranelagh,  at  Hurlingham — would  sum  up  any 
friendship  between  Mrs.  Chepstow  and  himself. 

' '  Mrs.  Chepstow 's  hooked  poor  old  Armine ! '  * 

Something  like  that  would  be  the  verdict. 

Were  they  friends?    Could  they  ever  be  friends? 

Nigel  had  met  Mrs.  Chepstow  by  chance  in  the  vestibule 
of  the  Savoy.  He  had  been  with  a  racing  man  whom  he 
scarcely  knew,  but  who  happened  to  know  her  well.  This 
man  had  introduced  them  to  each  other  carelessly,  and 
hurried  away  to  ''square  things  up  with  his  bookie."  Thus 
casually  and  crudely  their  acquaintance  was  begun.  How 
was  it  to  continue?    Or — was  it  to  continue? 

Nigel  was  a  strong  man  in  the  flower  of  his  life.  He 
was  not  a  saint.  And  he  was  begining  to  wonder.  And 
Isaacson,  who  was  again  in  town,  was  beginning  to  wonder, 
too. 

During  the  season  the  Doctor  was  very  busy.  Many 
Americans  and  foreigners  desired  to  consult  him.  He 
adhered  to  his  rule,  and  never  admitted  a  patient  to  his 
house  after  half-past  five  had  struck,  yet  his  work  was 
seldom  over  before  the  hour  of  seven.  He  could  not  see 
Nigel  often,  because  he  could  not  see  any  one  often;  but 
he  had  seen  him  more  than  once,  more  than  once  he  had 
heard  gossip  about  him,  and  he  realized,  partly  through 
knowledge,  and  partly  through  instinct,  his  situation  \v\th 
Mrs.  Chepstow.     Nigel  longed  to  be  frank  with  Isaacs r 


BELLA  DONNA  65 

yet  told  him  very  little,  held  back  by  some  strange  reserve, 
subtly  inculcated,  perhaps,  by  the  woman.  Other  men 
told  Isaacson  far  too  much,  drawing  evil  inferences  with 
the  happy  laughter  of  the  beast  and  not  of  the  angel. 

And  the  Doctor  drew  his  own  conclusion. 

From  the  very  first,  he  had  realized  that  the  acquaint- 
ance between  this  socially  ruined,  no  longer  young,  yet 
still  fascinating  woman,  and  this  young,  enthusiastic  man 
would  be  no  slight,  ephemeral  thing.  The  woman  had 
willed  it  otherwise.  And  perhaps  the  almost  ungovern- 
able root-qualities  of  Nigel  had  willed  it  otherwise,  too, 
although  he  did  not  know  that.  Enthusiasm  plies  a  whip 
that  starts  steeds  in  a  mad  gallop  it  is  not  easy  to  arrest. 
Even  the  vigorous  force  that  started  them  may  be  unable 
to  pull  them  up. 

Where  exactly  was  Nigel  going? 

Smiling  and  sneering  men  in  the  clubs  said,  to  a  crude 
liaison.  They  said  more.  They  said  the  liaison  was  a 
fact,  and  marvelled  that  a  fellow  like  Armine  should  be 
willing  to  be  ''a  bad  last."  Isaacson  knew  the  untruth  of 
this  gossip.  There  was  no  liaison.  But  would  there  ever  be 
one  ?  Did  Mrs.  Chepstow  intend  that  there  should  be  one  ? 
Or  had  her  intention  from  the  beginning  been  quite 
otherwise  ? 

Isaacson  did  not  know  in  detail  what  Nigel's  past  had 
been.  He  imagined  it,  from  the  man's  point  of  view,  to 
have  been  unusually  pure.  But  he  did  not  suppose  it  stain- 
less. His  keen  eyes  of  a  physician  read  the  ardour  of  Nigel's 
temperament.  He  made  no  mistake  about  his  man.  Nigel 
ought  to  have  married.  That  he  had  never  done  so  was 
due  to  a  sorrow  in  early  life,  the  death  of  a  girl  w^hom  he 
had  loved.  Isaacson  knew  nothing  of  this,  and  sometimes 
he  had  wondered  why  no  woman  captured  this  nature  so 
full  of  impulse  and  of  sympathy,  so  full  of  just  those  quali- 
ties which  make  good  women  happy.  If  Mrs.  Chepstow 
should  capture  it,  the  irony  of  life  would  be  in  flood. 

Would  she  w^in  the  love  as  well  as  the  pity  and  the 
chivalry  of  Nigel,  which  she  already  had?  Would  she 
5 


m  BELLA  DONNA 

awaken  the  flesh  of  this  man  as  well  as  the  spirit,  asd 
through  spirit  and  flesh  would  she  attain  his  soul? 

And  then  ? 

Isaacson's  sincerity  was  sorely  tested  by  his  friendship 
at  this  period.  Original  though  he  was,  and  full  of  the 
sensitive  nature's  distaste  for  marching  with  the  mob,  he 
was  ranged  with  the  mob  against  Nigel  in  this  affair  of 
Mrs.  Chepstow.  Yet  Nigel  claimed  him  as  an  ally,  a 
kindred  spirit.  He  was  not  explicit,  but  in  their  fugitive 
intercourse  he  was  perpetually  implying.  It  was  **You  and 
I,"  and  the  rest  of  the  world  shut  out.  Pity  was  working 
within  him,  chivalry  was  working,  the  generosity  of  his 
soul,  but  also  its  fighting  obstinacy.  There  was  something 
oi  Nigel  which  loved  to  have  it?i  back  against  the  wall. 
He  wanted  to  put  Isaacson  into  the  same  pugnacious  posi- 
tion, facing  the  overwhelming  odds.  But  the  overwhelm- 
ing odds  were  on  the  same  side  as  the  Doctor.  On  the 
whole,  Isaacson  was  not  sorry  that  he  had  so  few  hours  to 
spare.  For  he  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Professional 
secrecy  debarred  him  from  telling  Nigel  what  Mrs.  Chep- 
stow had  said  of  herself.  What  others  said  of  her  would 
never  set  Nigel  against  her,  but  would  always  incline  him 
towards  her. 

So  far  Mrs.  Chepstow  and  he  were  acquaintances.  But 
already  the  moment  had  come  when  Nigel  was  beginning 
to  want  of  her  more  than  mere  acquaintanceship,  and, 
because  of  this  driving  want  of  more,  to  ask  himself  whether 
he  should  require  less.  His  knowledge  of  the  world  might, 
or  might  not,  have  told  him  that  with  Mrs.  Chepstow  an 
unembarrassed  friendship  would  be  difficult.  That  would 
have  been  theory.  Practice  already  taught  him  that  the 
difficulty  would  probably  prove  insurmountable  even  by 
his  enthusiasm  and  courage.  Were  they  friends?  Could 
they  ever  be  friends? 

Even  while  he  asked  himself  the  question,  a  voice 
within  him  answered,  **No." 

Women  who  have  led  certain  lives  lose  the  faculty  for 
friendship,  if  they  ever  possessed  it.    Events  have  taught 


BELLA  DONNA  67 

them,  what  instinct  seems  to  teach  many  women,  to  look 
on  men  as  more  physical  even  than  they  are.  And  such 
women  show  their  outlook  perpetually,  in  word,  in  look,  in 
action,  and  in  the  indefinable  nuances  of  manner  which 
make  a  person's  atmosphere.  This  outlook  affects  men, 
both  shames  them  and  excites  them,  acting  on  god  and 
brute.  Neither  shamed  god  nor  brute  with  lifted  head  is 
in  the  mood  for  friendship. 

Mrs.  Chepstow  had  this  instinctive  outlook  on  male 
creation,  and  not  even  her  delicate  gifts  as  a  comeddenne 
could  entirely  disguise  it. 

At  last  Nigel  reached  a  crisis  of  restlessness  and  uncer- 
tainty, which  warned  him  that  he  must  drift  and  delay  no 
longer,  but  make  up  his  mind  quite  definitely  what  course 
he  was  going  to  take.  He  was  not  a  man  who  could  live 
comfortably  in  indecision.  He  hated  it,  indeed,  as  an  attri- 
bute of  weakness. 

He  must  ''have  it  out"  with  himself. 

It  was  now  July.  The  season  would  soon  be  over.  And 
his  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Chepstow?  Would  that  be 
over  too?  It  might  come  to  an  end  quite  naturally.  He 
would  go  into  the  country,  presently  to  Scotland  for  the 
shooting.  And  she — where  would  she  go  ?  This  question  set 
him  thinking,  as  often  in  these  last  days — thinking  about 
her  loneliness,  a  condition  exaggerated  and  underlined  by 
her  to  make  an  impression  on  him.  She  did  not  seem  to 
dwell  upon  it.  She  was  far  too  clever  for  that.  But  some- 
how it  was  always  cropping  up.  When  he  paid  her  a  visit, 
she  was  scarcely  ever  out.  And  if  she  was  in,  she  was 
invariably  alone.  Sometimes  she  wore  a  hat  and  said  she 
had  just  come  in.  Sometimes,  when  he  left  her,  she  Avould 
say  she  was  going  out.  But  always  the  impression  created 
was  of  a  very  lonely  woman,  with  no  engagements  and 
apparently  no  friends,  who  passed  the  long  summer  days 
in  solitude,  playing — generally  ''Gerontius" — upon  the 
little  rosewood  piano,  or  reading  ''The  Scarlet  Letter,"  or 
some  sad  or  high-minded  book.  There  was  no  pose  apparent 
in   all   this.     Indeed,   sometimes   Mrs.    Chepstow   seemed 


68  BELLA  DONNA 

slightly  confused,  almost  ashamed,  at  being  so  unoccupied, 
so  unclaimed  by  any  society  or  any  bright  engagements. 
And  more  than  once  Nigel  suspected  her  of  telling  him 
white  lies  when  she  spoke  of  dining  out  with  "people"  in 
the  evening,  or  of  joining  a  ''party"  for  the  play.  For 
he  noticed  that  when  she  made  such  statements  it  was  gen- 
erally after  some  remark,  some  little  incident,  which  had 
indicated  his  pity.  And  he  divined  the  pride  of  a  well- 
bred  woman  stirring  within  her,  the  desire  to  conceal  or  to 
make  the  least  of  her  unfortunate  situation.  Far  from 
posing  to  gain  his  pity,  he  believed  her  to  be  ' '  playing  up, ' ' 
if  possible,  to  avoid  it.  And  this  belief,  not  unnaturally, 
rendered  it  far  more  keen.    So  he  fell  in  with  her  intention. 

Once  or  twice  when,  in  mental  colloquies,  he  played,  as 
he  supposed,  the  part  of  the  ordinary  man  of  the  world 
arguing  out  the  question  with  the  impulsive,  chivalrous 
man,  he  said,  and  insisted  strongly,  that  a  woman  such  as 
Mrs.  Chepstow,  justifiably  famous  for  beauty  and  scandal- 
ously famous  for  very  different  reasons,  if  she  sought  to 
deceive — and  of  course  the  man  of  the  world  thought  such 
women  compact  of  deception — would  try  to  increase  her 
attraction  by  representing  herself  as  courted,  desired,  feted, 
run  after  by  men.  Such  women  always  did  that.  Never 
would  she  wish  it  to  be  known  that  she  was  undesired,  that 
she  was  abandoned.  ^Men  want  what  other  men  want.  But 
who  wants  the  unwanted?  The  fact  that  ]\Irs.  Chepstow 
allowed  him  to  see  and  to  realize  her  solitude,  so  simply  and 
so  completely,  proved  to  Nigel  her  almost  unwise  unworldli- 
ness.  The  man  of  the  world,  so  sceptical,  was  convinced. 
And  as  to  the  enthusiast — he  bowed  down. 

Nigel  made  the  mistake  of  judging  IMrs.  Chepstow's 
capacity  by  the  measure  of  his  own  shrewdness,  which  in 
such  a  direction  was  not  great.  What  seemed  the  inevitable 
procedure  of  such  a  woman  to  Nigel's  amount  of  worldly 
cleverness,  seemed  the  procedure  to  be  avoided  to  IMrs. 
Chepstow's  amount  of  the  same  blessing.  She  seldom  took 
the  obvious  route  in  deception,  as  Isaacson  had  realized 
almost  from  the  first  moment  when  he  knew  her.    She  paid 


BELLA  DONNA  69 

people  the  compliment  of  crediting  them  with  astuteness, 
and  thought  it  advisable  to  be  not  only  more  clever  than 
they  were  stupid,  but  more  clever  than  they  were  clever. 

And  so  Nigel's  pity  grew;  and  now,  when  he  was  ** hav- 
ing it  out"  with  himself,  he  felt  that  when  the  season  was 
over  ]\Irs.  Chepstow  must  miss  him,  not  because  she  had 
picked  him  out  as  a  man  specially  attractive  to  her,  but 
simply  because  he  had  brought  the  human  element  into  a 
very  lonely  life.  In  their  last  conversation  he  had  spoken 
of  the  end  of  the  season,  of  the  exodus  that  would  follow 
it. 

''Oh — yes,  of  course,"  she  had  said,  rather  vaguely. 

''Where  are  you  going?" 

She  had  sat  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and  he  had  believed 
he  followed  the  movement  of  her  thought.  He  had  felt 
certain  that  she  was  considering  whether  she  would  tell 
him  a  lie,  recount  some  happy  plan  invented  at  the  moment 
to  deceive  him.  Feeling  this  certainty,  he  had  looked  at 
her,  and  his  eyes  had  asked  her  to  tell  him  the  truth.  And 
he  had  believed  that  she  yielded  to  them,  when  at  length  she 
said: 

"I  haven't  any  special  plans.  I  dare  say  I  shall  stay 
on  quietly  here. ' ' 

She  had  not  given  him  an  opportunity  of  making  a 
rejoinder,  but  had  at  once  turned  the  conversation  to  some 
quite  different  topic.  And  again  he  had  divined  pride 
working  busily  within  her. 

She  must  miss  him. 

She  must  miss  any  one  who  occasionally  stepped  in  to 
break  her  solitude.  Sometimes  he  had  wondered  at  this 
solitude's  completeness.  He  wondered  again  now.  Every- 
body had  their  friends,  their  intimates,  whether  delightful 
or  preposterous.  Who  were  hers?  Of  course  the  average 
woman  had  "dropped"  her  long  ago.  But  there  are  other 
women  in  London  besides  the  average  woman.  There  are 
brilliant  women  of  Bohemia,  there  are  clever  women  even 
belonging  to  society  who  "take  their  own  way,"  and  know 
precisely  whom  they  choose,  whoever  interests  or  attracts 


70  BELLA  DONNA 

them.  And — there  are  friends,  faithful  through  changes, 
misfortunes,  even  disasters.  Where  were  Mrs.  Chepstow's? 
He  did  not  dare  to  ask. 

He  recalled  his  first  visit  to  her,  not  with  any  maudlin 
sentimentality,  but  with  a  quiet  earnestness:  the  empty 
room  looking  to  the  river,  the  open  piano  and  the  music 
upon  it,  the  few  roses,  and  the  books.  He  recalled  *'The 
Scarlet  Letter"  bound  in  white,  and  her  partial  quotation 
from  the  Bible  in  explanation  of  its  binding.  Abruptly 
she  had  stopped,  perhaps  suddenly  conscious  of  the  appli- 
cation to  herself.  At  tea  she  had  said  of  the  cakes  that 
were  so  good,  ''I  ordered  them  specially  for  you  and  our 
little  festivity."  There  was  a  great  simplicity  in  the 
words,  and  in  her  voice  when  she  had  said  them.  In  her 
loneliness,  a  cup  of  tea  drunk  with  him  was  a  "festivity." 
He  imagined  her  sitting  alone  in  that  room  in  August,  when 
the  town  is  parched,  dried  up,  and  half  deserted.  How 
would  she  pass  her  days? 

He  compared  his  life  with  hers,  or  rather  with  a  life  he 
imagined  as  hers.  And  never  before  had  he  realized  the 
brightness,  even  the  brilliance,  of  his  life,  with  its  multi- 
tudinous changes  and  activities,  its  work — the  glorious 
sweating  with  the  brown  labourers  in  the  sand  flats  at  the 
edge  of  the  Fayyum — its  sport,  its  friendships,  its  strenuous 
and  its  quiet  hours,  so  dearly  valued  because  they  were 
rather  rare.  It  was  a  good  life.  It  was  almost  a  grand 
life.  London  now,  Scotland  presently;  then  the  late 
autumn,  the  train,  the  sight  of  the  sea,  the  cry  of  the  siren, 
the  throbbing  of  the  engines,  and  presently — Egypt !  And 
then  the  winter  of  sunshine,  and  the  songs  of  his  workmen, 
his  smiling  fellahin,  and  the  reclaiming  of  the  desert. 

The  reclaiming  of  the  desert! 

Nigel  was  alone  in  his  bedroom  in  the  Savoy.  It  was 
late  at  night.  He  was  in  pajamas,  smoking  a  cigar  by  the 
open  window.  He  looked  down  to  the  red  carpet  on  which 
his  bare  feet  were  set  in  their  red  babouches,  and  suddenly 
he  realized  the  beauty  of  what  he  was  doing  in  the  Fayyum. 
He  had  never  really  thought  of  it  before  in  this  way — of 


BELLA  DONNA  71 

the  reclaiming  of  the  desert;  but  now  that  he  did  think 
of  it,  he  was  glad,  and  his  heart  bounded,  looking  forward 
in  affection  to  the  winter. 

And  her  winter?    What  would  that  be  like? 

What  an  immense  difference  one  honest,  believing,  and 
therefore  inspiring  affection  must  make  in  a  lonely  life  I 
Only  one — that  is  enough.    And  the  desert  is  reclaimed. 

He  saw  the  brakes  of  sugar-cane  waving,  the  tall  doura 
swaying  in  the  breeze,  where  only  the  sands  had  been.  And 
his  brown  cheeks  glowed,  as  a  hot  wave  of  blood  went 
through  them. 

Progress !  He  loved  to  think  of  it.  It  was  his  passion. 
That  grand  old  Watts 's  picture,  with  its  glow,  its  sacred 
glow  of  colour,  in  which  was  genius!  Each  one  must  do 
his  part. 

And  in  that  great  hotel,  how  many  were  working  con- 
sciously for  the  cause? 

Excitement  woke  in  him.  He  thought  of  the  rows  and 
rows  of  numbered  doors  in  the  huge  building,  and  within, 
beyond  each  number,  a  mind  to  think,  a  heart  to  feel,  a 
soul  to  prompt,  a  body  to  act.  And  beyond  his  number — 
himself !  What  was  he  doing  ?  What  was  he  going  to  do  ? 
He  got  up  and  walked  about  his  room,  still  smoking  his^ 
cigar.  His  babouches  shuffled  over  the  carpet.  He  kicked 
them  off,  and  went  on  walking,  with  bare,  brown  feet. 
Often  in  the  Fayyum  he  had  gone  barefoot,  like  his  labour- 
ers. What  was  he  going  to  do  to  help  on  the  slow  turning 
of  the  mighty  wheel  of  progress?  He  must  not  be  a  mere 
talker,  a  mere  raver  about  grand  things,  while  accomplish- 
ing nothing  to  bring  them  about.  He  despised  those  windy 
talkers  who  never  act.  He  must  not  be  one  of  them.  That 
night,  when  he  sat  down  "to  have  it  out'*  with  himself,  he 
had  done  so  for  his  own  sake.  He  had  been  an  egoist,  had 
been  thinking,  perhaps  not  solely  but  certainly  chiefly,  of 
himself.  But  in  these  lonely  moments  men  are  generally 
essentially  themselves.  Nigel  was  not  essentially  an  egoist. 
And  soon  himself  had  been  almost  forgotten.  He  had  been 
thinking  far  more  of  Mrs.  Chepstow  than  of  himself.    And 


75  BELLA  DONNA 

now  he  thought  of  her  again  in  connection  with  this  turning 
of  the  great  wheel  of  progress.  At  first  he  thought  of  her 
alone  in  this  connection,  then  of  her  and  of  himself. 

It  is  difficult  to  do  anything  quite  alone,  anything 
wholly  worth  the  doing.  That  was  what  he  was  thinking. 
Nearly  always  some  other  intrudes,  blessedly  intrudes,  to 
give  conscious,  or  unconscious,  help.  A  man  puts  his 
shoulder  to  the  wheel,  and  in  front  of  him  he  sees  another 
shoulder.    And  the  sight  gives  him  courage. 

The  thought  of  strenuous  activity  made  him  think  of 
Mrs.  Chepstow's  almost  absolute  inactivity.  He  saw  her 
sitting,  always  sitting,  in  her  room,  while  life  flowed  on 
outside.  He  saw  her  pale  face.  That  her  face  was  care- 
fully made  pale  by  art  did  not  occur  to  him.  And  then 
again  he  thought  of  Mrs.  Browning  and  of  the  mountain 
peaks. 

What  was  he  going  to  do? 

He  made  a  strong  mental  effort,  as  he  would  have  ex- 
pressed it,  to  ''get  himself  in  hand."  Now,  then,  he  must 
think  it  out.  And  he  must  *'hold  up'*  his  enthusiasm,  and 
just  be  calm  and  reasonable,  and  even  calculating. 

He  thought  of  the  girl  whom  he  had  loved  long  ago  and 
who  had  died.  Since  her  death  he  had  put  aside  love  as 
a  passion.  Now  and  then — not  often — a  sort  of  travesty 
of  love  had  come  to  him,  the  spectre  of  the  real.  It  is  diffi- 
cult for  a  young,  strong  man  in  the  pride  of  his  life  never 
to  have  any  dealing  either  with  love  or  with  its  spectre. 
But  Isaacson  was  right.  Nigel's  life  had  been  much  purer 
than  are  most  men's  lives.  Often  he  had  fought  against 
himself,  and  his  own  natural  inclination,  because  of  his 
great  respect  for  love.  Not  always  had  he  conquered.  But 
the  fights  had  strengthened  the  muscles  of  his  will,  and 
each  fall  had  shown  him  more  clearly  the  sadness,  almost 
the  horror,  imprinted  on  the  haggard  features  of  the 
spectre  of  the  real. 

Mrs.  Chepstow  for  years  had  been  looking  upon,  had 
been  living  with,  that  spectre,  if  what  was  said  of  her  was 
true. 


BELLA  DONNA  7^ 

And  Nigel  did  not  deceive  himself  on  this  point.  He 
did  not  sentimentally  exalt  a  courtesan  into  an  angel,  as 
boys  so  often  do.  Mrs.  Chepstow  had  certainly  lived  very 
wrongly,  in  a  way  to  excite  disgust,  perhaps,  as  well  as 
pity.  Yet  within  her  were  delicacy,  simplicity,  the  pride  of 
breeding,  even  a  curious  reserve.  She  had  still  a  love  of 
fine  things.  She  cared  for  things  ethereal.  He  thought  of 
liis  first  visit  to  her,  the  open  piano,  "  Proficiscere,  anima 
Christiana/'  '*  The  Scarlet  Letter/'  and  her  quotation. 
What  had  she  been  thinking  while  she  played  Elgar's 
curiously  unearthly  music,  while  she  read  Hawthorne's 
pitiful  book?  She  had  been  using  art,  no  doubt,  as  so 
many  use  it,  as  a  means  of  escape  from  life.  And  her 
escape  had  been  not  into  filth  or  violence,  not  into  the 
salons  of  wit,  or  into  the  alcoves  where  secrets  are  unveiled, 
but  into  the  airy  spaces  with  the  angel,  into  the  forest  with 
Hester  and  little  Pearl. 

Why  could  they  not  continue  friends? 

His  body  spoke  in  answer,  and  he  laid  the  blame  for 
the  answer  entirely  on  himself.  He  candemned  himself  at 
that  moment,  was  angry  with  himself,  cursed  himself.  And 
he  cursed  himself,  not  because  he  was  morbid,  but  because 
he  was  healthy-minded,  and  believed  that  his  evil  inclina- 
tions had  been  aroused  by  his  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Chepstow's 
past.  And  that  fact  was  a  beast,  was  something  to  be 
stamped  on.  He  would  never  allow  himself  comfortably  to 
be  that  sort  of  man.  Yet  he  was,  it  seemed,  enough  that 
sort  of  man  to  make  friendship  with  Mrs.  Chepstow  diffi- 
cult, perhaps  impossible.  If  love  had  led  him  to  such  an 
inclination,  he  would,  being  no  prude,  have  understood  it 
as  a  perfectly  natural  and  perfectly  healthy  thing.  But 
he  did  not  love  Mrs.  Chepstow.  He  would  never  love, 
really  love,  again.  For  years  he  had  said  that  to  himself, 
and  had  believed  it.  He  said  it  again  now.  And  even  if 
he  could  renew  that  strange  power,  to  love,  he  could  not 
love  a  woman  who  was  not  pure.  He  felt  certain  of  that. 
He  thought  of  the  dead  girl  and  of  Mrs.  Chepstow.  But 
to-night  he  could  not  recall  the  dead  girl's  figure,  face. 


74  BELLA  DONNA 

look,  exactly.  Mrs.  Chepstow  ^s  he  could,  of  course,  recall. 
He  had  seen  her  that  very  day.  And  the  girl  he  had  loved 
had  been  dead  for  many  years.  She  lived  in  his  memory 
now  rather  as  a  symbol  of  purity  and  beauty  than  as  a 
human  being. 

Mrs.  Chepstow,  of  course,  would  never  find  a  man  sin- 
cerely to  love  her  now. 

Ajid  yet  why  not?  Suddenly  Nigel  checked  himself,  as 
he  generally  did  when  he  found  himself  swiftly  subscribing 
to  the  general  opinion  of  the  great  mass  of  men.  Why  not  ? 
The  shoulder  to  the  wheel;  it  was  nearly  always  the 
shoulder  of  love — love  of  an  idea,  love  of  a  woman,  love  of 
humanity,  love  of  work,  love  of  God.  All  the  men  he  knew, 
or  very  nearly  all,  would  laugh  at  the  idea  of  Mrs.  Chep- 
stow being  sincerely  loved.  But  the  fact  that  they  would 
laugh  could  have  no  effect  on  a  manly  heart  or  a  manly 
spirit. 

He  felt  almost  angry  with  her  for  the  loneliness  and  the 
immobility  which  pained  his  chivalry  and  struck  at  his  sense 
of  pity.  If  he  could  think  of  her  as  going  away,  too,  as 
wandering,  in  Switzerland,  in  Italy,  in  some  lovely  place,  he 
would  feel  all  right.  But  always  he  saw  her  seated  in  that 
room,  alone,  deserted,  playing  the  piano,  reading,  with  no 
prospect  of  company,  of  change.  Mrs.  Chepstow  had  acted 
her  part  well.  She  had  stamped  a  lonely  image  upon  the 
retina  of  Nigel's  imagination. 

He  was  still  walking  about  his  room  in  bare  feet.  But 
his  cigar  had  gone  out,  though  it  was  still  between  his  lips. 
The  hour  was  very  late.  He  heard  a  distant  clock  strike 
two.  And  just  after  he  had  listened  to  its  chime,  followed 
by  other  chimes  in  near  and  distant  places  of  the  city,  the 
night  idea  of  a  strong  and  young  man  came  to  him. 

If  he  could  not  be  friends  with  Mrs.  Chepstow,  could 
he  be — the  other  thing  to  her? 

He  put  up  his  hand  to  his  lips,  took  away  the  cigar,  and 
flung  it  out  of  the  window  violently.  And  this  physical 
violence  was  the  echo  of  his  mental  violence.  She  might 
allow  su«h  a  thing.  Often,  if  half  of  what  was  said  of  her 
was  true,  she  had  entered  into  a  similar  relation  with  other 


BELLA  DONNA  75 

men.  He  would  not  believe  that  "often/'  He  put  it 
differently.  She  had  certainly  entered  into  a  similar  rela- 
tion with  some  men — perhaps  with  two  or  three,  multiplied 
by  scandal — in  the  past.  Would  she  enter  into  it  with  him, 
if  he  asked  her  ?    And  would  he  ever  ask  her  ? 

He  threw  himself  down  again  in  his  arm-chair,  and 
stared  at  his  bare  feet  planted  firmly  on  the  floor.  But  he 
saw,  not  his  feet,  but  the  ugly  spectre  of  love,  that  hideous, 
damnable  ghost,  that  most  pretentious  of  all  pretensions. 
She  had  lived  with  the  ghost  till  she  had  become  pale  like 
a  ghost.  In  the  picture  of  "Progress,"  which  he  loved, 
there  was  a  glow,  a  glory  of  light,  raying  out  to  a  far 
horizon.  It  would  be  putting  a  shoulder  to  the  wheel  to 
set  a  glow  in  the  cheeks  of  a  woman,  not  a  glow  of  shame 
but  of  joy.  And  to  be — and  then  Nigel  used  to  himself 
that  expression  of  the  laughing  men  in  the  clubs — "a  bad 
last!"    No,  that  sort  of  thing  was  intolerable. 

Suddenly  the  ghost  faded  away,  and  he  saw  his  brown 
feet.  They  made  him  think  at  once  of  the  sun,  of  work,  of 
the  good,  real,  glowing  life. 

No,  no;  none  of  those  intolerable  beastlinesses  for  him. 
That  thought,  that  imagination,  it  was  utterly,  finally  done 
with.  He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  stretched  up  his  arms, 
till  the  loose  sleeves  of  his  night-suit  fell  down,  exposing 
the  strong,  brown  limbs.  And  as  he  had  looked  at  his  feet, 
he  looked  at  them,  then  felt  them,  thumped  them,  and 
rejoiced  in  the  glory  of  health.  But  the  health  of  mind  and 
heart  was  essential  to  the  complete  health  of  the  body.  He 
felt  suddenly  strong — strong  for  more  than  one,  as  surely  a 
man  should  be — strong  for  himself,  and  his  woman,  for  her 
who  belongs  to  him,  who  trusts  him,  who  has  blotted  out — 
it  comes  to  that  with  a  woman  who  loves — all  other  men 
for  him. 

Was  he  really  condemned  to  an  eternal  solitude  because 
of  the  girl  who  had  died  so  many  years  ago?  For  his  life 
was  a  solitude,  as  every  loveless  life  is,  however  brilliant 
and  strenuous.  He  realized  that,  and  there  came  to  him  a 
thought  that  was  natural  and  selfish.  It  was  this:  How 
good  it  must  be  to  be  exclusively  loved  by  a  woman,  and 


76  BELLA  DONNA 

how  a  woman,  whom  men  and  the  world  have  abandoned, 
must  love  the  man  who  comes,  like  a  knight  through  the 
forest,  and  carries  her  away,  and  takes  her  into  his  life, 
and  gives  her  back  self-respect,  and  a  place  among  women, 
and,  above  all,  the  feeling  that  of  all  feelings  a  woman  holds 
dearest,  ''Somebody  wants  me."  It  must  be  good  to  be 
loved  as  such  a  woman  would  love.  His  generosity,  which 
instinctively  went  out  to  abandoned  things,  walked  hand  in 
hand  with  man's  eternal,  indestructible  selfishness  that 
night,  as  he  thought  of  Mrs.  Chepstow  for  the  first  time  as 
married  again  to  some  man  who  cared  not  for  the  world's 
opinion,  or  who  cared  for  it  so  much  as  to  revel  in  defy- 
ing it. 

How  would  she  love  such  a  man  ? 

He  began  to  wonder  about  that  part  of  her  nature  dedi- 
cated to,  designed  for,  love. 

With  him  she  was  always  perfectly  simple,  and  seemed 
extremely  frank.  But  he  felt  now  that  in  her  simplicity 
she  had  always  been  reserved,  almost  strangely  reserved 
for  such  a  woman.  Perhaps  that  reserve  had  been  her 
answer  to  his  plainly  shown  respect.  Just  because  of  her 
position,  he  had  been  even  more  respectful  to  her  than  he 
was  to  other  women,  following  in  this  a  dictate  of  his  tem- 
perament. What  would  she  be  like  in  the  unreserve  of  a 
great  love? 

And  now  a  fire  was  kindled  in  Nigel,  and  began  to  burn 
up  fiercely.  He  felt,  very  consciously  and  definitely,  the 
fascination  of  this  woman.  Of  course,  he  had  always  been 
more  or  less  subject  to  it.  Isaacson  had  known  that  when 
he  saw  Nigel  draw  his  chair  nearer  to  hers  at  the  supper- 
table  in  the  Savoy.  But  he  had  been  subject  to  it  without 
ever  saying  to  himself,  "I  am  in  subjection."  He  had 
never  supposed  that  he  was  in  subjection.  The  abrupt  con- 
sciousness of  how  it  was  with  him  excited  him  tremen- 
dously. After  the  long  interval  of  years,  was  he  to  feel 
again  the  powerful  fever,  and  for  a  woman  how  different 
from  the  woman  ho  had  loved?  She  stood,  in  her  young 
purity,  at  one  end  of  the  chain  of  years,  and  Mrs.  Chepstow 
— did  she  really  stand  at  the  other? 


BELLA  DONNA  77 

He  seemed  to  see  these  two  looking  at  each  other  across 
the  space  that  was  set  by  Time,  and  for  a  moment  his  face 
contracted.  But  he  had  changed  while  traversing  that 
space.  Then  he  w^as  an  eager  boy,  in  the  joy  of  his  bound- 
ing youth.  Now  he  was  a  vigorous  man.  And  during  the 
interval  that  separated  boy  from  man  had  come  up  in  him 
his  strong  love  of  humanity,  his  passion  for  the  develop- 
ment of  the  good  that  lies  everywhere,  like  the  ore  in 
gold-bearing  earth.  That  love  had  perhaps  been  given  to 
him  to  combine  the  two  loves,  the  altruistic  love,  and  the 
love  for  a  woman  bringing  its  quick  return. 

The  two  faces  of  women  surely  softened  as  they  gazed 
now  upon  each  other. 

Such  loves  in  combination  might  crown  his  life  with 
splendour.  Nigel  thought  that,  with  the  enthusiasm  which 
was  his  birthright,  which  set  him  so  often  apart  from  other 
men.  And,  moving  beneath  such  a  splendour,  how  absolutely 
he  could  defy  the  world's  opinion!  Its  laughter  would  be 
music,  its  sneering  word  only  the  signal  to  a  smile. 

But — he  must  think — he  must  think 

He  sprang  up,  pulled  up  his  loose  sleeves  to  his 
shoulders,  tucked  them  together,  and  with  bared  arms 
leaned  out  to  the  night,  holding  his  hands  against  his 
cheeks. 

VIII 

Mrs.  Chepstow  had  said  to  Nigel,  **  Bring  Doctor 
Isaacson — if  he  '11  come. ' '  He  had  never  gone,  though  Nigel 
had  told  him  of  her  words,  had  told  him  more  than  once. 
Without  seeming  deliberately  to  avoid  the  visit,  he  had 
deliberately  avoided  it.  He  never  had  an  hour  to  spare  in 
the  day,  and  Nigel  knew  it.  But  he  might  have  gone  on 
a  Sunday.  It  happened  that,  at  present,  on  Sundays  he 
was  always  out  of  town. 

He  had  said  to  himself,  ''  Cui  honof 

He  had  the  sensitive  nature's  dislike  of  mingling  inti- 
mately in  the  affairs  of  others,  and  moreover  he  felt  instinc- 
tively that  if  he  tried  to  play  a  true  friend's  part  to  Nigel, 
he  might  lose  Nigel  as  a  friend.    His  clear  insight  would 


78  BELLA  DONNA 

be  antagonistic  to  Nigel's  blind  enthusiasm,  his  calm 
worldly  knowledge  would  seem  only  frigid  cruelty  to 
Nigel's  generosity  and  eagerness  in  pity.  And,  besides, 
Isaacson  had  a  strong  personal  repulsion  from  Mrs.  Chep- 
stow, a  repulsion  almost  physical. 

The  part  of  him  that  was  Jewish  understood  the  part 
of  her  that  was  greedy  far  too  well.  And  he  disliked,  while 
he  secretly  acknowledged,  his  own  Jewishness.  He  seldom 
showed  this  dislike,  even  subtly,  to  the  world  and  never 
showed  it  crudely,  as  do  many  of  Jewish  blood,  by  a  strange 
and  hideous  anti-Semitism.  But  it  was  always  alive  within 
him,  always  in  conflict  with  something  belonging  to  his 
nature's  artistic  side,  a  world-feeling  to  which  race-feeling 
seemed  stupid  and  very  small.  The  triumphs  of  art 
aroused  this  world-feeling  within  him,  and  in  his  love  of 
art  he  believed  that  he  touched  his  highest  point.  As 
Isaacson's  mental  unconventionality  put  him  en  rapport 
with  Nigel,  his  Jewishness,  very  differently,  put  him  en 
rapport  with  her.  There  is  a  communion  of  repulsion 
as  well  as  a  communion  of  affection.  Isaacson  knew  that 
Mrs.  Chepstow  and  he  could  be  linked  by  their  dislike. 
His  instinct  was  to  avoid  her,  not  to  let  this  link  be  formed. 
Subsequent  circumstances  made  him  ask  himself  whether 
men  do  not  often  call  things  towards  them  with  the 
voices  of  their  fears. 

The  season  was  waning  fast,  was  nearly  at  an  end,  when 
one  night,  very  late,  Nigel  called  in  Cleveland  Square. 
Isaacson  had  just  come  back  from  dining  with  the  Dean  of 
Waynfleet  when  the  bell  rang.  He  feared  a  professional 
summons,  and  was  relieved  when  a  sleepj^  servant  asked  if 
he  would  see  Mr.  Armine.  They  met  in  a  small,  upstairs 
room  where  Isaacson  sat  at  night,  a  room  lined  with  books, 
cosy,  but  perhaps  a  little  oppressive.  As  Nigel  came  in 
quickly  with  a  light  coat  over  his  arm  and  a  crush  hat  in 
his  hand,  a  clock  on  the  mantel  piece  struck  one. 

*'I  caught  sight  of  you  just  now  in  St.  James's  Street  in 
your  motor,  or  I  wouldn't  have  come  so  late,"  Nigel  said. 
**Were  you  going  straiojht  to  bed?  Tell  me  the  truth. 
If  you  were,  I  '11  be  off. ' ' 


BELLA  DONNA  79 

'*I  don't  think  I  was.  IVe  been  dining  out,  and  should 
have  had  to  read  something.  That's  why  you  kept  your 
coat?" 

**To  demonstrate  my  good  intention.    WelH" 

He  put  the  coat  and  hat  on  a  chair. 

*'Will  you  have  anything?" 

*^No,  thanks." 

Nigel  sat  down  in  an  arm-chair.  ^ 

**I've  seen  so  little  of  you,  Isaacson.  And  I'm  going 
away  to-morrow." 

''You've  had  enough  of  it?" 

''More  than  enough." 

Isaacson  was  sitting  by  a  table  on  which  lay  a  number 
of  books.  Now  and  then  he  touched  one  with  his  long 
and  sallow  fingers,  lifted  its  cover,  then  let  it  drop  mechan- 
ically. 

"You  are  coming  back  in  the  autumn?" 

"For  some  days,  in  passing  through.  I'm  going  to 
Egypt  again." 

"I  envy  you — I  envy  you." 

As  he  looked  at  Nigel's  Northern  fairness,  and  thought 
of  his  own  darkness,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  should  be 
going  to  the  sun,  Nigel  remaining  in  the  lands  where  the 
light  is  pale.  Perhaps  a  somewhat  similar  thought  occurred 
to  Nigel,  for  he  said: 

"You  ought  to  go  there  some  day.  You'd  be  in  your 
right  place  there.    Have  you  ever  been?" 

"Never.    I've  often  wanted  to  go." 

"Why  don't  you  go?" 

Isaacson 's  mind  asked  that  question,  and  his  Jewishness 
replied.  He  made  money  in  London.  Every  day  he  spent 
out  of  London  was  a  loss  of  so  much  money. 

"Some  day,"  Nigel  continued,  "you  must  take  a  holi- 
day and  see  Egypt." 

"This  winter?"  said  Isaacson. 

He  lifted  the  cover  of  a  book.  His  dark,  shining,  almost 
too  intelligent  eyes  looked  at  Nigel,  and  looked  away. 

"Not  this  winter,"  he  added,  quietly. 


80  BELLA  DONNA 

''But— why  not  this  winter?" 

Nigel  spoke  with  a  slight  embarrassment. 

"I  couldn't  get  away.  I  have  too  much  work.  You'll 
be  in  the  Fayyimi?  " 

Nigel  was  staring  at  the  Oriental  carpet.  His  strong 
hands  lay  palm  downwards  on  the  arms  of  his  chair,  press- 
ing them  hard. 

"I  shall  go  there,"  he  replied. 

*'And  live  under  the  tent?  I  met  a  man  last  night  who 
knows  you,  an  Egyptian  army  man  on  leave,  Verreker. 
He  told  me  you  w^ere  reclaiming  quite  a  lot  of  desert. '  * 

' '  I  should  like  to  reclaim  far  more  than  I  ever  can.  It 's 
a  good  task." 

"Hard  work?" 

"Deuced  hard.    That's  why  I  like  it." 

"I  know;  man's  love  of  taming  the  proud  spirit." 

"Is  it  that?  I  don't  think  I  bother  much  about  what 
prompts  me  to  a  thing.  But — I  say,  Isaacson,  sometimes 
it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  a  devilish  long  sight  into 
things,  an  almost  uncanny  long  sight." 

He  leaned  forward. 

"But  in  you  I  don't  mind  it." 

"I  don't  say  I  acknowledge  it.  But  why  should  you 
mind  it  in  any  one?" 

Nigel  quoted  some  words  of  Mrs.  Chepstow,  but  Isaac- 
son did  not  know  he  quoted. 

"Hasn't  the  brain  a  tendency  to  overshadow,  to  brow- 
beat the  heart?"  he  said.  "Isn't  it  often  arrogant  in  its 
strength?" 

"One  must  let  both  have  an  innings,"  said  Isaacson, 
smiling  at  the  slang  which  suited  him  so  little  and  suited 
Nigel  so  well. 

* '  Yes,  and  I  believe  you  do.  That 's  why — but  to  go  on 
with  what  we  were  saying.  You've  got  a  long  sight  into 
things.  Now,  living  generally,  as  you  do,  here  in  London, 
don't  you  think  that  men  and  women  living  in  crowds 
often  get  off  the  line  of  truth  and  kindness?  Don*t  you 
think  that  being  all  together,  backed  up,  as  it  were,  by  each 


BELLA  DONNA  81] 

other — as  a  soldier  is  by  his  regiment  when  going  into 
battle — they  often  become  hard,  brutal,  almost  get  the 
blood-lust  into  them  at  times  ? ' ' 

Isaacson  did  not  reply  for  a  moment. 

*' Perhaps  sometimes  they  do,''  he  answered  at  last. 

* '  And  don 't  you  think  they  require  sacrifices  ? ' ' 

"Do  you  mean  human  sacrifices?" 

**Yes." 

*  *  Perhaps — sometimes. ' ' 

**Why  have  you  never  been  to  call  on  Mrs.  Chepstow?" 

Again  the  sallow  fingers  began  to  play  with  the  book- 
covers,  passing  from  one  to  another,  but  always  slowly  and 
gently. 

''I  haven't  much  time  for  seeing  any  one,  except  my 
patients,  and  the  people  I  meet  in  society." 

"And  of  course  you  never  meet  Mrs.  Chepstow  in 
society. ' ' 

"Well— no,  one  doesn't." 

"She  would  have  liked  a  visit  from  you,  and  she's  very 
much  alone." 

"Is  she?" 

"Are  you  stopping  on  much  longer  in  London?" 

"Till  the  twelfth  or  fifteenth  of  August." 

"She  is  stopping  on,  too." 

"Mrs.  Chepstow!     In  the  dog-days!" 

"She  doesn't  seem  to  have  anywhere  special  to  go  to." 

"Oh!" 

Isaacson  opened  a  book,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  a  page. 
It  happened  to  be  a  book  on  poisons  and  their  treatment. 
He  smoothed  the  page  down  mechanically  and  kept  his 
hand  there. 

"I  say,  Isaacson,  you  couldn't  have  the  blood-lust?" 

"I  hope  not.     I  think  not." 

"I  believe  you  hate  it  as  I  do,  hate  and  loathe  it  with 
all  your  soul.  But  I've  always  felt  that  you  think  for 
yourself,  and  don't  care  a  rap  what  the  world  is  thinking. 
I've  looked  in  to-night  to  say  good-bye,  and  to  ask  you,  if 
you  can  get  the  time,  just  to  give  an  eye  to — ^to  Mrs. 


82  BELLA  DONNA 

Chepstow  now  and  again.  I  know  she  would  value  a  visit 
from  you,  and  she  really  is  infernally  lonely.  If  you  go, 
she  won't  bore  you.  She's  a  clever  woman,  and  cares  for 
things  you  care  for.  Will  you  look  in  on  her  now  and 
then?" 

Isaacson  lifted  his  hand  from  the  book. 

*  *  I  will  call  upon  her, ' '  he  said. 

*^Good!" 

*'But  are  you  sure  she  wishes  it?" 

"Quite  sure — for  she  told  me  so." 

The  simplicity  of  this  answer  made  Isaacson  *s  mind 
smile  and  something  else  in  him  sigh. 

"I  have  to  go  into  the  country,"  Nigel  said.  "I've 
got  to  see  Harwich  and  Zoe,  my  sister-in-law  you  know, 
and  my  married  sister " 

A  sudden  look  of  distress  came  into  his  eyes.  He  got 
up.    The  look  of  distress  persisted. 

"Good-night,  Isaacson,  old  fellow!" 

He  grasped  the  Doctor's  hand  firmly,  and  his  hand  was 
warm  and  strong. 

"Good-night.  I  like  to  feel  I  know  one  man  who  thinks 
so  entirely  for  himself  as  you  do.  For — I  know  you  do. 
Good-bye." 

The  look  of  distress  had  vanished,  and  his  sincere  eyes 
seemed  to  shine  again  with  courage  and  with  strength. 

"Good-bye." 

"When  he  was  gone,  Isaacson  stood  by  the  mantel-piece 
for  nearly  five  minutes,  thinking  and  motionless.  The 
sound  of  the  little  clock  striking  roused  him.  He  lifted  his 
head,  looked  around  him,  and  was  just  going  to  switch  off 
the  light,  when  he  noticed  the  open  book  on  his  table.  He 
went  to  shut  it  up. 

"It  must  be  ever  remembered  that  digitalin  is  a  cumu- 
lative poison,  and  that  the  ame  dose,  harmless  if  taken 
once,  yet  frequently  repeated  becomes  deadly;  this  pecu- 
liarity is  shared  by  all  poisons  affecting  the  heart." 

He  stood  looking  at  the  page. 

"This  peculiarity  is  shared  by  all  poisons  affecting  the 
heart." 


BELLA  DONNA  83 

He  moved  his  head  as  if  in  assent.  Then  he  closed  the 
book  slowly  and  switched  off  the  light. 

On  the  August  Bank  Holiday,  one  of  the  most  dreadful 
days  of  London 's  year,  he  set  out  to  call  on  Mrs.  Chepstow. 

A  stagnant  heat  pervaded  London.  There  were  but  few 
people  walking.  Few  vehicles  drove  by.  Here  and  there 
small  groups  of  persons,  oddly  dressed,  and  looking  vacant 
in  their  rapture,  stared,  round-eyed,  on  the  town.  London- 
ers were  in  the  country,  staring,  round-eyed,  on  fields  and 
woods.  The  policemen  looked  dull  and  heavy,  as  if  never 
again  would  any  one  be  criminal,  and  as  if  they  had  come 
to  know  it.  Bits  of  paper  blew  aimlessly  about,  wafted  by 
a  little,  feverish  breeze,  which  rose  in  spasms  and  died 
away.  An  old  man,  with  a  head  that  was  strangely  bald, 
stared  out  from  a  club  window,  rubbed  his  enquiring  nose, 
looked  back  into  the  room  behind  him  and  then  stared  out 
again.  An  organ  played  ''The  Manola,"  resuscitated  from 
a  silence  of  many  years. 

London  was  at  its  summer  saddest. 

Could  Mrs.  Chepstow  be  in  it?  Soon  Isaacson  knew. 
In  the  entrance  hall  of  the  Savoy,  where  large  and  lonely 
porters  were  dozing,  he  learnt  that  she  was  at  home.  So 
be  it.  He  stepped  into  the  lift,  and  presently  followed  a 
servant  to  her  door.  The  servant  tapped.  There  was  no 
answer.  He  tapped  again  more  loudly,  while  Isaacson 
waited  behind  him. 

* '  Come  in ! "  called  out  a  voice. 

The  servant  opened  the  door,  announcing: 

** Doctor  Meyer  Isaacson." 

Mrs.  Chepstow  had  perhaps  been  sitting  on  her  balcony, 
for  when  Isaacson  went  in  she  was  in  the  opening  of  a 
window  space,  standing  close  to  a  writing-table,  which  had 
its  drawers  facing  the  window.  Behind  her,  on  the  balcony, 
there  was  a  small  arm-chair. 

''Doctor  Meyer  Isaacson !'*  she  said,  with  an  intonation 
of  surprise. 

The  servant  went  out  and  shut  the  door. 

**How  quite  amazing!" 


84  BELLA  DONNA 

''But— why,  Mrs.  Chepstow?" 

He  had  taken  and  dropped  her  hand.  As  he  touched 
her,  he  remembered  holding  her  wrist  in  his  consulting- 
room.  The  sensation  she  had  communicated  to  him  then 
she  communicated  again,  this  time  perhaps  more  strongly. 

"Why?  It  is  Bank  Holiday!  And  you  never  come  to 
see  me.  By  the  way,  how  clever  of  you  to  divine  that  I 
should  be  in  on  such  a  day  of  universal  going  out." 

^'Even  men  have  their  intuitions." 

"Don't  I  know  it,  to  my  cost?  But  to-day  I  can  only 
bless  man 's  intuition.    Where  will  you  sit  ? " 

"Anywhere." 

"Here,  then." 

He  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  and  she  in  a  chair,  facing  the 
light.  She  was  without  a  hat.  Isaacson  wondered  what 
she  had  been  doing  all  the  day,  and  why  she  was  in  London. 
That  she  had  her  definite  reason  he  knew,  as  a  woman 
knows  when  another  woman  is  wearing  a  last  year's  gown. 
As  their  eyes  met,  he  felt  strongly  the  repulsion  he  con- 
cealed. Yet  he  realized  that  Mrs.  Chepstow  was  looking 
less  faded,  younger,  more  beautiful  than  when  last  he  had 
been  with  her.  She  was  very  simply  dressed.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  the  colour  of  her  hair  was  changed,  was  a  little 
brighter.  But  of  this  he  was  not  sure.  He  wa^  sure, 
however,  that  a  warmth,  as  of  hope,  subtly  pervaded  her 
whole  person.  And  she  had  seemed  hard,  cold,  and  almost 
hopeless  on  the  day  of  her  visit  to  him. 

A  woman  lives  in  the  thoughts  of  men  about  her.  At 
this  moment  Mrs.  Chepstow  lived  in  Isaacson's  thought 
that  she  looked  younger,  less  faded,  and  more  beautiful. 
Her  vanity  was  awake.  His  thought  of  her  had  suddenly 
increased  her  value  in  her  own  eyes,  made  her  think  she 
could  attract  him.  She  had  scarcely  tried  to  attract  him 
the  first  time  that  she  had  met  him.  But  now  he  saw  her 
go  to  her  armoury  to  select  the  suitable  weapon  with  which 
to  strike  him.  And  he  began  to  understand  why  she  had 
caJmly  faced  the  light.  Never  could  such  a  man  ai? 
Nigel  get  so  near  to  Mrs.  Chepstow  as  Doctor  !Meyer 
Isaacson,  even  though  Nigel  should  love  her  and  Isaacson 


BELLA  DONNA  85 

learn  to  hate  her.  At  that  moment  Isaacson  did  not  hate 
her,  but  he  almost  hated  his  divination  of  her,  the  ''Kab- 
bala,"  he  carried  within  him  and  successfully  applied  to 
her. 

"What  has  kept  you  in  this  dreary  city,  Doctor  Isaac- 
son/' she  said.    ''I  thought  I  was  absolutely  alone  in  it." 

''People  are  still  thinking  they  are  ill." 

"And  you  are  still  telling  them  they  are  not?" 

"That  depends!" 

"I  believe  you  have  adopted  that  idea,  that  no  one  is 
ill,  as  a  curative  method.  And  really  there  may  be  some- 
thing in  it.  I  fancied  I  was  ill.  You  told  me  I  was  well. 
Since  that  day  something — your  influence,  I  suppose — 
seems  to  have  made  me  well.  I  think  I  believe  in  you — as 
a  doctor." 

"Why  spoil  everything  by  concluding  with  a  reserva- 
tion?" 

*  *  Oh,  but  your  career  is  you ! ' ' 

"You  think  I  have  sunk  my  humanity  in  ambition?" 

"Well,  you  are  in  town  on  Bank  Holiday!" 

"In  town  to  call  on  you!" 

"You  were  so  sure  of  finding  me  on  such  a  day?" 

She  sent  him  a  look  which  mocked  him. 

"But,  seriously,"  she  continued,  "does  not  the  passion 
for  science  in  you  dominate  every  other  passion?  For 
science — and  what  science  brings  you?" 

With  a  sure  hand  she  had  touched  his  weak  point.  He 
had  the  passion  to  acquire,  and  through  his  science  of 
medicine  he  acquired. 

"You  cannot  expect  me  to  allow  that  I  am  dominated 
by  anything,"  he  answered.  "A  man  will  seldom  make  a 
confession  of  slavery  even  to  himself,  if  he  really  is  a 
man." 

' '  Oh,  you  really  are  a  man,  but  you  have  in  you  some- 
thing of  the  woman." 

* '  How  do  you  know  that  ? ' ' 

"I  don't  know  it;  I  feel  it." 

"Feeliag  is  woman's  knowledge." 


86  BELLA  DONNA 

* '  And  what  is  man 's  ? '  * 

"Do  women  think  he  has  any?" 

''Some  men  have  knowledge — dangerous  men,  like 
you." 

**In  what  way  am  I  dangerous?" 

*  *  If  I  tell  you,  you  will  be  more  so.  I  should  be  foolish 
to  lead  you  to  your  weapons. ' ' 

''You  want  no  leading  to  yours." 

It  was,  perhaps,  almost  an  impertinence ;  but  he  felt  she 
would  not  think  it  so,  and  in  this  he  accurately  appraised 
her  taste,  or  lack  of  taste.  Delicacy,  reverence,  were  not 
really  what  she  wanted  of  any  man.  Nigel  might  pray 
to  a  pale  Madonna ;  Isaacson  dealt  with  a  definitely  blunted 
woman  of  the  world.  And  in  his  intercourse  with  people, 
unless  indeed  he  loved  them,  he  generally  spoke  to  their 
characters,  did  not  hold  converse  with  his  own,  like  a  man 
who  talks  to  himself  in  an  unlighted  room. 

She  smiled. 

"Few  women  do,  if  they  have  any." 

"Is  any  woman  without  them?" 

"Yes,  one." 

"Name  her." 

"The  absolutely  good  woman." 

For  a  moment  he  was  silent,  struck  to  silence  by  the 
fierceness  of  her  cynicism,  a  fierceness  which  had  leapt  sud- 
denly out  of  her  as  a  drawn  sword  leaps  from  its  sheath. 

"I  don't  acknowledge  that,  Mrs.  Chepstow,"  he  said — • 
and  at  this  moment  perhaps  he  was  the  man  talking  to 
himself  in  the  dark,  as  Nigel  often  was. 

"Of  course  not.    No  man  would." 

"Why  not?" 

"Men  seldom  name,  even  to  themselves,  the  weapons  by 
which  they  are  conquered.  But  women  know  what  those 
weapons  are." 

"The  Madame  Marneffes,  but  not  the  Baroness  Hulots." 

"A  Baroness  Hulot  never  counts." 

"Is  it  really  clever  of  you  to  generalize  about  men? 
Don't  you  differentiate  among  us  at  all?" 


BELLA  DONNA  87 

He  spoke  entirely  without  pique,  of  which  he  was  quite 
unconscious. 

''I  do  differentiate, ' '  she  replied.  *'But  only  some- 
times, not  always.  There  are  broad  facts  which  apply  to 
men,  however  different  they  may  be  from  one  another. 
There  are  certain  things  which  all  men  feel,  and  feel  in 
much  the  same  way." 

''Nigel  Armine  and  I,  for  instance?" 

A  sudden  light — was  it  a  light  of  malice? — flashed  in 
her  brilliant  eyes. 

''Yes,  even  Mr.  Armine  and  you." 

*'I  shall  not  ask  you  what  they  are." 

' '  Perhaps  the  part  of  you  which  is  woman  has  informed 
you." 

Before  she  said  "woman"  she  had  paused.  He  felt  that 
the  word  she  had  thought  of,  and  had  wished  to  use,  was 
"Jewish."  Her  knowledge  of  him,  while  he  disliked  it 
because  he  disliked  her,  stirred  up  the  part  of  him  which 
was  mental  into  an  activity  which  he  enjoyed.  And  the 
enjoyment,  which  she  felt,  increased  her  sense  of  her  own 
value.  Conversation  ran  easily  between  them.  He  dis- 
covered, what  he  had  already  half  suspected,  that,  though 
not  strictly  intellectual — often  another  name  for  boring — 
she  was  far  more  than  merely  shrewd.  But  her  mentality 
seemed  to  him  hard  as  bronze.  And  as  bronze  reflects  the 
light,  her  mentality  seemed  to  reflect  all  the  cold  lights  in 
her  nature.  But  he  forgot  the  stagnant  town,  the  bald- 
headed  man  at  the  club  window,  the  organ  and  "The 
Manola."  Despite  her  generalizing  on  men,  with  its  unex- 
pressed avowal  of  her  deep-seated  belief  in  physical 
weapons,  she  had  chosen  aright  in  her  armoury.  His  brain 
had  to  acknowledge  it.  There  again  was  the  link  between 
them.    "When  at  last  he  got  up  to  go,  she  said : 

"I  suppose  you  will  soon  be  leaving  London?" 

"I  expect  to  get  away  on  the  fifteenth.  Are  you  stay« 
ing  on  ? " 

"I  dare  say  I  shall.    You  wonder  what  I  do  here?" 

"Yes." 


88  BELLA  DONNA 

**I  am  out  a  great  deal  on  my  balcony.  When  you  came 
I  was  there." 

She  made  a  movement  towards  it. 

' '  Would  you  like  to  see  my  view  ? ' ' 

''Thank  you." 

As  he  followed  her  through  the  window  space,  he  was 
suddenly  very  conscious  of  the  physical  charm  that  clung 
about  her.  All  her  movements  were  expressive,  seemed  very 
specially  hers.  They  were  like  an  integral  part  of  a  char- 
acter— her  character.  They  had  almost  the  individuality  of 
an  expression  in  the  eyes.  And  in  her  character,  in  her  indi- 
viduality, mingled  with  much  he  hated  was  there  not  some- 
thing that  charmed?  He  asked  himself  the  question  as  he 
stood  near  her  on  the  balcony.  And  now,  escaped  from  her 
room,  even  at  this  height  there  came  upon  him  again  the 
hot  sluggishness  of  London.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly, 
the  air  was  warm  and  still,  the  view  was  large  and  unim- 
peded; but  he  felt  a  strange,  almost  tropical  dreariness 
that  seemed  to  him  more  dreadful  than  any  dreariness  of 
winter. 

''Do  you  spend  much  of  your  time  here?"  he  said. 

"A  great  deal.  I  sit  here  and  read  a  book.  You  don't 
like  it?" 

She  turned  her  bright  eyes,  with  their  dilated  pupils, 
slowly  away  from  his,  and  looked  down  over  the  river. 

"I  do.  But  there 's  a  frightful  dreariness  in  London  on 
such  a  day  as  this.    Surely  you  feel  it  ? " 

"No.     I  don't  feel  such  things  this  summer." 

In  saying  the  words  her  voice  had  altered.  There  was 
a  note  of  triumph  in  it.  Or  so  Isaacson  thought.  And  that 
warmth,  as  of  hope,  in  her  had  surely  strengthened,  alter- 
ing her  whole  appearance. 

* '  One  has  one 's  inner  resources, ' '  she  added,  quietly,  but 
with  a  thrill  in  her  voice. 

She  turned  to  him  again.  Her  tall  figure — she  was 
taller  than  he  by  at  least  three  inches — was  beautiful  in 
its  commanding,  yet  not  vulgar,  self-possession.  Her  thin 
and  narrow  hands  held  the  balcony  railing  rather  tightly. 


BELLA  DONNA  89 

Her  long  neck  took  a  delicate  curve  when  she  turned  her 
head  towards  him.  And  nothing  that  time  had  left  of 
beauty  to  her  escaped  his  eyes.  He  had  eyes  that  were  very 
just. 

''Did  you  think  I  had  none?'* 

Suddenly  he  resolved  to  speak  to  her  more  plainly. 
Till  this  moment  she  had  kept  their  conversation  at  a  cer- 
tain level  of  pretence.  But  now  her  eyes  defied  him,  and 
he  replied  to  their  defiance. 

*'Do  you  forget  how  much  I  know  of  you?''  he  said. 

'*Do  you  mean — of  the  rumours  about  me?" 

**I  mean  what  you  told  me  of  yourself." 

''When  was  that ?  Oh,  do  you  mean  in  your  consulting- 
room?    And  you  believe  all  a  woman  tells  you?" 

She  smiled  at  him  satirically. 

' '  I  believe  what  you  told  me  that  day  in  my  consulting- 
room,  as  thoroughly  as  I  disbelieve  what  you  told  me,  and 
Mr.  Armine,  the  night  we  met  you  at  supper." 

"And  what  are  your  grounds  for  your  belief  and  dis- 
belief?" 

' '  Suppose  I  said  my  instinct  ? ' ' 

"I  should  answer,  by  all  means  trust  it,  if  you  like. 
Only  do  not  expect  every  one  to  trust  it,  too. ' ' 

Her  last  words  sounded  almost  like  a  half-laughing 
menace. 

"Why  should  I  want  others  to  trust  it?"  he  asked, 
quietly. 

' '  I  leave  your  instinct  to  tell  you  that,  my  dear  Doctor, '  * 
she  answered  gently,  with  a  smile. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  must  say  good-bye.  I  must  leave 
you  to  your  inner  resources.  You  haven't  told  me  what 
they  are. ' ' 

"Can't  you  imagine?" 

"Spiritual,  I  suppose!" 

"You've  guessed  it — clever  man!" 

"And  your  gospel  of  IMaterialism,  which  you  preached 
to  me  so  powerfully,  gambling,  yachting,  racing,  motoring, 
theatre-going,  eating  and  drinking,  in  the  'for  to-morrow 


90  BELLA  DONNA 

we  die'  mood:  those  pleasures  of  the  typical  worldly  life  of 
to-day  which  you  said  you  delighted  in  ?  You  have  replaced 
them  all  satisfactorily  with  '  inner  resources '  ? " 

**With  inner  resources.'* 

Her  smiling  eyes  did  not  shrink  from  his.  He  thought 
they  looked  hard  as  two  blue  and  shining  jewels  under 
their  painted  brows. 

*' Good-bye — and  come  again." 

While  Isaacson  walked  slowly  down  the  corridor,  Mrs. 
Chepstow  opened  her  writing-table  drawer,  and  took  from 
it  a  packet  of  letters  which  she  had  put  there  when  the 
servant  first  knocked  to  announce  the  visitor. 

The  letters  were  all  from  Nigel. 


IX 

Isaacson  did  not  visit  Mrs.  Chepstow  again  before  he 
left  London  for  his  annual  holiday.  More  than  once  he 
thought  of  going.  Something  within  him  wanted  to  go, 
something  that  was  perhaps  intellectually  curious.  But 
something  else  rebelled.  He  felt  that  his  finer  side  was 
completely  ignored  by  her.  Why  should  he  care  what 
she  saw  in  him  or  what  she  thought  about  it?  He  asked 
himself  the  question.  And  when  he  answered  it,  he  was 
obliged  to  acknowledge  that  she  had  made  upon  his  nature 
a  definite  impression.  This  impression  was  unfavorable,  but 
it  was  too  distinct.  Its  distinctness  gave  a  measure  of  her 
power.  He  was  aware  that,  much  as  he  disliked  Mrs. 
Chepstow,  much  as  he  even  shrank  from  her,  with  a  sort 
of  sensitive  loathing,  if  he  saw  her  very  often  he  might 
come  to  wish  to  see  her.  Never  had  he  felt  like  this  towards 
any  other  woman.  Does  not  hatred  contain  attraction? 
By  the  light  of  his  dislike  of  Mrs.  Chepstow,  Isaacson  saw 
clearly  why  she  attracted  Nigel.  But  during  those  August 
days,  in  the  interior  combat,  his  Jewishness  conquered  his 
intellectual  curiosity,  and  he  did  not  go  again  to  the  Savoy. 

His  holiday  was  spent  abroad  on  the  Lake  of  Como,  and 


BELLA  DONNA  91 

quite  alone.  Each  year  he  made  a  "retreat,"  which  he 
needed  after  the  labours  of  the  year,  labours  which  obliged 
him  to  be  perpetually  with  people.  He  fished  in  the  green 
lake,  sketched  in  the  lovely  garden  of  the  almost  deserted 
hotel,  and  passed  every  day  some  hours  in  scientific  study. 

This  summer  he  was  reading  about  the  effects  of  certain 
little-known  poisons.  He  spent  strange  hours  with  them. 
He  had  much  imagination,  and  they  became  to  him  like 
living  things,  these  agents  of  destruction.  Sometimes,  after 
long  periods  passed  with  them,  he  would  raise  his  head 
from  his  books,  or  the  paper  on  which  he  was  taking  notes, 
and,  seeing  the  still  green  waters  of  the  lake,  the  tall  and 
delicate  green  mountains  lifting  their  spires  into  the  blue, 
he  would  return  from  his  journey  along  the  ways  of  terror, 
and,  dazed,  like  a  tired  traveller,  he  would  stare  at  the  face 
of  beauty.  Or  when  he  worked  by  night,  after  hours  dur- 
ing which  the  swift  action  of  the  brain  had  rendered  him 
deaf  to  the  sounds  without,  suddenly  he  would  become 
aware  of  the  chime  of  bells,  of  bells  in  the  quiet  waters  and 
on  the  dreaming  shores.  And  he  would  lift  his  head  and 
listen,  till  the  strangeness  of  night,  and  of  the  world  with 
its  frightful  crimes  and  soft  enchantments,  stirred  and 
enthralled  his  soul.  And  he  compared  his  two  lives,  this 
by  the  quiet  lake,  alone,  filled  with  research  and  dreams, 
and  that  in  the  roar  of  London,  with  people  streaming 
through  his  room.  And  he  seemed  to  himself  two  men, 
perhaps  more  than  two. 

Soon  the  four  weeks  by  the  lake  were  gone.  Then  fol- 
lowed two  weeks  of  travel — Milan,  Munich,  Berlin,  Paris. 
And  then  he  was  home  again. 

He  had  heard  nothing  of  Nigel,  nothing  of  Mrs. 
Chepstow. 

September  died  away  in  the  brown  arms  of  October, 
and  at  last  a  letter  came  from  Nigel.  It  was  written  from 
Stacke  House,  a  shooting-lodge  in  Scotland,  and  spoke  of 
his  speedy  return  to  the  South. 

*'I  am  shooting  with  Harwich,"  he  wrote,  *'but  must 
soon  be  thinking  about  my  return  to  Egypt.    I  didn't  write 


92  BELLA  DONNA 

to  you  before,  though  I  wanted  to  thank  you  for  your  visit 
to  Mrs.  Chepstow.  You  can 't  think  how  she  appreciated  it. 
She  was  delighted  by  your  brilliant  talk  and  sense  of 
humour,  but  still  more  delighted  by  your  cordiality  and 
kindness.  Of  late  she  hasn't  had  very  much  of  the  latter 
commodity,  and  she  was  quite  bowled  over.  By  Jove, 
Isaacson,  if  men  realized  what  a  little  true  kindness  means 
to  those  who  are  down  on  their  luck,  they'd  have  to  'fork 
out, '  if  only  to  get  the  return  of  warm  affection.  But  they 
don't  realize. 

*'I  sometimes  think  the  truest  thing  said  since  the 
Creation  is  that  'They  know  not  what  they  do.'  Add, 
'  and  what  they  leave  undone, '  and  you  have  an  explanation 
of  most  of  the  world's  miseries.  Good-bye,  old  chap.  I 
shall  come  to  Cleveland  Square  directly  I  get  to  London. 
Thank  you  for  that  visit.    Yours  ever,  Nigel  Armine. ' ' 

Nigel 's  enthusiasm  seemed  almost  visibly  to  exhale  from 
the  paper  as  Isaacson  held  the  letter  in  his  hands.  "Your 
cordiality  and  kindness."  So  that  had  struck  Mrs. 
Chepstow — the  cordiality  and  kindness  of  his,  Isaacson's, 
manner !  Of  course  she  and  Nigel  were  in  correspondence. 
Isaacson  remembered  the  occasional  notes  almost  of  triumph 
in  her  demeanour.  She  had  had  letters  from  Nigel  during 
his  absence  from  London.  His  letters — the  hope  in  her 
face.  Isaacson  saw  her  on  the  balcony  looking  out  over  the 
river.  Had  she  not  looked  out  as  the  human  soul  looks 
out  upon  a  prospect  of  release?  In  the  remembrance  of 
them  her  expression  and  her  attitude  became  charged  with 
more  definite  meaning.  And  he  surely  grasped  that  mean- 
ing, which  he  had  wondered  about  before. 

Yet  Nigel  said  nothing.  And  all  this  time  he  had  been 
away  from  Mrs.  Chepstow.  Such  an  absence  was  strange, 
and  seemed  unlike  him,  quite  foreign  to  his  enthusiastic 
temperament,  if  Isaacson's  surmise  was  correct.  But  per- 
haps it  w^as  not  correct.  That  well-spring  of  human  kind- 
ness which  bubbled  up  in  Nigel,  might  it  not,  perhaps, 
deceive  ? 

"Feeling  is  woman's  knowledge.*'  Isaacson  had  said 
that.     Now   mentally  he   added,   "And  sometimes   it   is 


BELLA  DONNA  93 

man's."  He  felt  too  mucli  about  Nigel,  but  he  strove  to 
put  his  feeling  away. 

Presently  he  would  know.  Till  then  it  was  useless  to 
debate.    And  he  had  very  much  to  do. 

Not  till  nearly  the  end  of  October  did  Nigel  return  to 
London.  The  leaves  w^ere  falling  in  battalions  from  the 
trees.  The  autumn  winds  had  come,  and  with  them  the 
autumn  rain,  that  washes  sadly  away  the  last  sweet  traces 
of  summer.  Everywhere,  through  country  and  town, 
brooded  that  grievous  atmosphere  of  finale  which  in  Eng- 
land seldom  or  never  fails  to  cloud  the  waning  year. 

The  depression  that  is  characteristic  of  this  season  sent 
many  people  to  doctors.  Day  after  day  Isaacson  sat  in 
his  consulting-room,  prescribing  rather  for  the  minds  of 
men  than  for  their  bodies,  living  rather  with  their  mis- 
understood souls  than  with  their  physical  symptoms.  And 
this  year  his  patients  reacted  on  him  far  more  than  usual. 
He  felt  almost  as  if  by  removing  he  received  their  ills,  as 
if  their  apprehensions  were  communicated  to  his  mind,  as 
germs  are  communicated  to  the  body,  and  as  if  they  stayed 
to  do  evil.  He  told  himself  that  his  holiday  had  not  rested 
him  enough.  But  he  never  thought  for  a  moment  of 
diminishing  his  work.  Success  swept  him  ever  onward  to 
more  exertion.  As  his  power  grew,  his  appetite  for  it 
grew.     And  he  enjoyed  his  increasing  fortune. 

At  last  Nigel  rang  at  his  door.  Isaacson  could  not  see 
him,  but  sent  out  word  to  make  an  appointment  for  the 
evening.  They  were  to  meet  at  eight  at  an  orchestral  con- 
cert in  Queen's  Hall. 

Isaacson  w^as  a  little  late  in  keeping  this  engagement. 
He  came  in  quickly  and  softly  between  two  movements  of 
Tschaikowsky 's  ''Pathetic  Symphony,"  found  Nigel  in  his 
stall,  and,  with  a  word,  sat  down  beside  him.  The  con- 
ductor raised  his  baton.     The  next  movement  began. 

In  the  music  there  was  a  throbbing  like  the  throbbing 
of  a  heart,  that  persisted  and  persisted  with  a  beautiful  yet 
terrible  monotony.  Often  Isaacson  had  listened  to  this 
symphony,  been  overwhelmed  by  the  two  effects  of  this 
monotony,  an  effect  of  loveliness  and  an  effect  of  terror 


94  BELLA  DONNA 

that  were  inextricably  combined.  To-night,  either  because 
he  was  very  tired  or  for  some  other  reason,  the  mystery  of 
the  sadness  of  this  music,  which  floats  through  all  its 
triumph,  appealed  to  him  more  than  usual,  and  in  a 
strangely  poignant  way.  The  monotonous  pulsation  was 
like  the  pulse  of  life,  that  life  in  which  he  and  the  man 
beside  him  were  for  a  time  involved,  from  which  presently 
they  would  be  released,  whether  with  or  against  their  wills. 
The  pulse  of  life!  Suddenly  from  the  general  his  mind 
passed  to  the  particular.  He  thought  of  a  woman's  pulse, 
strong,  regular,  inexorable.  He  seemed  to  feel  it  beneath 
his  fingers,  the  pulse  of  Mrs.  Chepstow.  And  he  knew  that 
he  had  thought  of  her  because  Nigel  Armine  was  thinking 
of  her,  that  he  connected  her  with  this  music  because  Nigel 
was  doing  the  same.  This  secretly  irritated  Isaacson.  He 
strove  to  detach  his  mind  from  this  thought  of  Mrs. 
Chepstow.  But  his  effort  was  in  vain.  Her  pulse  was 
beneath  his  fingers,  and  with  every  stroke  of  it  he  felt 
more  keenly  the  mystery  and  cruelty  of  life.  When  the 
movement  was  finished,  he  did  not  speak  a  wo^^d.  Nor 
did  he  look  at  Nigel.  Even  when  the  last  note  of  the 
symphony  seemed  to  fade  and  fall  downwards  into  an 
abyss  of  misery  and  blackness,  he  did  not  speak  or  move. 
He  felt  crushed  and  overwhelmed,  like  one  beaten  and 
bruised. 

* '  Isaacson ! ' ' 

''Yes?" 

He  turned  a  little  in  his  seat. 

** Grand  music!    But  it's  all  wrong.'' 

**Why?" 

** Wrong  in  its  lesson." 

The  artist  in  Isaacson  could  not  conceal  a  shudder. 

**I  don't  look  for  a  lesson;  I  don't  want  a  lesson  in  it." 

**But  the  composer  forces  it  on  one — a  lesson  of  despair. 
Give  it  all  up!  No  use  to  make  your  effort.  The  Imma- 
nent Will  broods  over  you.  You  must  go  down  in  the  end. 
That  music  is  a  great  lie.  It's  splendid,  it's  superb,  but  it's 
a  lie." 

''Shall  we  go  out?    We've  got  ten  minutes." 


BELLA  DONNA  95* 

They  made  their  way  to  the  corridor  and  strolled  slowly 
Lip  and  down,  passing  and  repassing  others  who  were  dis- 
cussing the  music. 

*'  Such  music  puts  my  back  up/'  Nigel  continued,  with 
energy;  ** makes  me  feel  I  won't  give  in  to  if 

Isaacson  could  not  help  smiling. 

*'I  can't  look  at  Art  from  the  moral  plane." 

* '  But  surely  Art  often  makes  you  think  either  morally 
or  immorally.  Surely  it  gives  you  impulses  which  connect 
themselves  with  life,  with  people." 

Isaacson  looked  at  him. 

*'I  don't  deny  it.  But  these  impulses  are  like  the 
shadowy  spectres  of  the  Brocken,  mere  outlines  which 
presently,  very  soon,  dissolve  into  the  darkness.  Though 
great  music  is  full  of  form,  it  often  creates  chaos  in  those 
who  hear  it." 

''  Then  that  music  should  call  up  in  you  a  chaos  of 
despair." 

''It  does." 

*'It  makes  me  want  to  fight." 

''What?" 

"All  the  evil  and  the  sorrow  of  the  world.  I  hate 
despair. ' ' 

Isaacson  glanced  at  him  again,  and  noticed  how  strong 
he  was  looking,  and  how  joyous. 

"Scotland  has  done  you  good,"  he  said.  "You  look 
splendid  to-night." 

Secretly  he  gave  a  special  meaning  to  the  ordinary 
expression.  To-night  there  was  a  splendour  in  his  friend 
which  seemed  to  be  created  by  an  inner  strength  radiating 
outward,  informing,  and  expressing  itself  in  his  figure  and 
his  features. 

"  I  'm  looking  forward  to  the  winter. ' ' 

Isaacson  thought  of  the  note  of  triumph  in  Mrs.  Chep- 
stow's voice  when  she  said  to  him,  "I  don't  feel  such  things 
this  summer. ' '    Surely  Nigel  now  echoed  that  note. 

An  electric  bell  sounded.  They  returned  to  the  concert- 
room. 

They  stayed  till  the  concert  was  over,  and  then  walked 


96  BELLA  DONNA 

away  aown  Regent  Street,  which  was  moist  and  dreary,  full 
of  mist  and  of  ugly  noises. 

*'When  do  you  start  for  Egypt?'*  said  Meyer  Isaacson. 

''In  about  ten  days,  I  think.  Do  you  wish  you  were 
going  there?" 

* '  I  cannot  possibly  escape.  * ' 

''But  do  you  wish  to?" 

For  a  moment  Isaacson  did  not  answer. 

**I  do  and  I  don't,"  he  said,  after  the  pause.  "Work 
holds  one  strangely,  because,  if  one  is  worth  anything  as  a 
worker,  its  grip  is  on  the  soul.  Part  of  me  wants  to  escape, 
often  wants  to  escape. ' ' 

He  remembered  a  morning  ride,  his  desire  of  his  ''own 
place. ' ' 

"The  whole  of  me  wants  to  escape,"  Nigel  replied. 

He  looked  about  him.  People  w^ere  seeking  "pleasure" 
in  the  darkness.  He  saw  them  standing  at  street  corners, 
watchfully  staring  lest  they  should  miss  the  form  of  joy. 
Cabs  containing  couples  rolled  by,  disappeared  towards 
north  and  south,  disappeared  into  the  darkness. 

"I  want  to  get  into  the  light." 

"Well,  there  it  is  before  us." 

Isaacson  pointed  to  the  brilliant  illumination  of  Picca- 
dilly Circus. 

"I  w^ant  to  get  into  the  real  light,  the  light  of  the  sun, 
and  I  want  every  one  else  to  get  into  it  too." 

"You  carry  your  moral  enthusiasm  into  all  the  details 
of  your  life,"  exclaimed  Isaacson.  "Would  you  carry  the 
world  to  Egypt?" 

Nigel  took  his  arm. 

* '  It  seems  so  selfish  to  go  alone. ' ' 

"Are  you  going  alone?" 

The  question  was  forced  from  Isaacson.  His  mind  had 
held  it  all  the  evening,  and  now  irresistibly  expelled  it  into 
words. 

Nigel's  strong  fingers  closed  more  tightly  on  his  arm. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  alone." 

* '  I  would  far  rather  be  alone  than  not  have  the  exactly 


BELLA  DONNA  97 

right  companion — some  one  who  could  think  and  feel  with 
me,  and  in  the  sort  of  way  I  feel.  Any  other  companion- 
ship is  destructive/' 

Isaacson  spoke  with  less  than  his  usual  self-possession, 
and  there  were  traces  of  heat  in  his  manner. 

** Don't  you  agree  with  me?"  he  added,  as  Nigel  did  not 
speak. 

*  *  People  can  learn  to  feel  alike. ' ' 

**You  mean  that  when  two  natures  come  together,  the 
stronger  eventually  dominates  the  weaker.  I  should  not 
like  to  be  dominated,  nor  should  I  like  to  dominate.  I  love 
mutual  independence  combined  with  perfect  sympathy." 

Even  while  he  was  speaking,  he  was  struck  by  his  own 
exigence,  and  laughed,  almost  ironically. 

''But  where  to  find  it!"  he  exclaimed.  ** Those  are 
right  who  put  up  with  less.  But  you — I  think  you  want 
more  than  I  do,  in  a  way. ' ' 

He  added  that  lessening  clause,  remembering,  quite 
simply,  how  much  more  brilliant  he  was  than  Nigel. 

*'I  like  to  give  to  people  who  don't  expect  it,"  Nigel 
said.    **How  hateful  the  Circus  is!" 

** Shall  we  take  a  cab  to  Cleveland  Square?" 

''Yes— I'll  come  in  for  a  little." 

When  they  were  in  the  house,  Nigel  said : 

"I  want  to  thank  you  for  your  visit  to  Mrs.  Chepstow." 

He  spoke  abruptly,  as  a  man  does  who  has  been  for 
some  time  intending  to  say  a  thing,  and  who  suddenly,  but 
not  without  some  difficulty,  obeys  his  resolution. 

"Why  on  earth  should  you  thank  me?" 

*' Because  I  asked  you  to  go." 

"Is  Mrs.  Chepstow  still  in  London?" 

"Yes.  I  saw  her  to-day.  She  talks  of  coming  to  Egypt 
for  the  winter." 

"Cairo,  I  suppose?" 

*I  think  she  is  sick  of  towns." 
"Then  no  doubt  she'll  go  up  the  Nile." 

There  was  a  barrier  between  them.     Both  men  felt  it 
acutely. 
7 


98  BELLA  DONNA 

*  *  If  she  goes — it  is  not  quite  certain — I  shall  xook  after 
her/'  said  Nigel. 

Meyer  Isaacson  said  nothing;  and,  after  a  silence  that 
was  awkward,  Nigel  changed  the  conversation,  and  not 
long  after  went  away.  When  he  was  gone,  Isaacson  re- 
turned to  his  sitting-room  upstairs  and  lit  a  nargeeleh 
pipe.  He  had  turned  out  all  the  electric  burners  except 
one,  and  as  he  sat  alone  there  in  the  small  room,  so  dimly 
lighted,  holding  the  long,  snake-like  pipe-stem  in  his  thin, 
artistic  hands,  he  looked  like  an  Eastern  Jew.  With  a  fez 
upon  his  head,  Europe  would  have  dropped  from  him. 
Even  his  expression  seemed  to  have  become  wholly  Eastern, 
in  its  sombre,  glittering  intelligence,  and  in  the  patience  of 
its  craft. 

''I  shall  look  after  her.'' 

Said  about  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Chepstow  by  a  man  of 
Nigel's  youth,  and  strength,  and  temperament,  that  could 
only  mean  one  of  two  things,  a  liaison  or  a  marriage.  Which 
did  it  mean?  Isaacson  tried  to  infer  from  Nigel's  tone  and 
manner.  His  friend  had  seemed  embarrassed,  had  certainly 
been  embarrassed.  But  that  might  have  been  caused  by 
something  in  his,  Isaacson's,  look  or  manner.  Though 
Nigel  was  enthusiastic  and  determined,  he  was  not  insensi- 
tive to  what  wEis  passing  in  the  mind  of  one  he  admired  and 
liked.  He  perhaps  felt  Isaacson's  want  of  sympathy,  even 
direct  hostility.  On  the  other  hand,  he  might  have  been 
embarrassed  by  a  sense  of  some  obscure  self-betrayal. 
Often  men  talk  of  uplifting  others  just  before  they  fall 
down  themselves.  Was  he  going  to  embark  on  a  liaison 
with  this  woman  whom  he  pitied  i  And  was  he  ashamed  of 
the  deed  in  advance  ? 

A  marriage  would  be  such  madness !  Yet  something  in 
Isaacson  at  this  moment  almost  wished  that  Nigel  con- 
templated marriage — his  secret  admiration  of  the  virtue  in 
his  friend.  Such  an  act  would  be  of  a  piece  with  Nigel's 
'Character,  whereais  a  liaison — and  yet  Nigel  was  no  saint. 

Isaacson  thought  w^hat  the  world  would  say,  and  sud- 
denly he  knew  the  reality  of  his  affection  for  Nigel.    Tho 


BELLA  DONNA  99 

idea  of  the  gossip  pained,  almost  shocked  him ;  of  the  gossip 
and  bitter  truths.  A  liaison  would  bring  forth  almost  dis- 
gusted and  wholly  ironical  laughter  at  the  animal  passions 
of  man,  as  blatantly  shown  by  Nigel.  And  a  marriage? 
Well,  the  verdict  on  that  would  be,  *  *  Cracky ! ' ' 

Isaacson's  brain  could  not  dispute  the  fact  that  there 
would  be  justice  in  that  verdict.  Yet  who  does  not  secretly 
love  the  fighter  for  lost  causes? 

''I  shall  look  after  her." 

The  expression  fitted  best  the  cruder,  more  sordid 
method  of  gaining  possession  of  this  woman.  And  men 
seem  made  for  falling. 

The  nargeeleh  was  finished,  but  still  Isaacson  sat 
there.  Whatever  happened,  he  would  never  protest  to 
Nigel.  The  feu  sacre  in  the  man  w^ould  burn  up  protest. 
Isaacson  knew  that — in  a  way  loved  to  know  it.  Yet  what 
tears  lay  behind — ^the  tears  for  what  is  inevitable,  and  what 
can  only  be  sad!  And  he  seemed  to  hear  again  the  sym- 
phony which  he  had  heard  that  night  with  Nigel,  the 
unyielding  pulse  of  life,  beautiful,  terrible,  in  its  monotony ; 
to  hear  its  persistent  throbbing,  like  the  beating  of  a  sad 
heart — ^which  cannot  cease  to  beat. 

Upon  the  window  suddenly  there  came  a  gust  of  wild 
autumn  rain.    He  got  up  and  went  to  bed. 


Very  seldom  did  Meyer  Isaacson  aUow  his  heart  to  fight 
against  the  dictates  of  his  brain ;  more  seldom  still  did  he, 
presiding  over  the  battle,  like  some  heathen  god  of  mythol- 
ogy, give  his  conscious  help  to  the  heart.  But  all  men  at 
times  betray  themselves,  and  some  betrayals,  if  scarcely 
clever,  are  not  without  nobility.  Such  a  betrayal  led  him 
upon  the  following  day  to  send  a  note  to  Mrs.  Chepstow, 
asking  for  an  appointment.  **May  I  see  you  alone?'*  he 
wrote. 

In  the  evening  came  an  answer : 


100  BELLA  DONNA 

*'Dear  Doctor: 

* '  I  thought  you  had  quite  forgotten  me.  I  have  a  pleas- 
ant recollection  of  your  visit  in  the  summer.  Indeed,  it 
made  me  understand  for  the  first  time  that  even  a  Bank 
Holiday  need  not  be  a  day  of  wrath  and  mourning.  Do 
repeat  your  visit.  And  as  I  know  you  are  always  so  busy 
telling  people  how  perfectly  healthy  they  are,  come  next 
Sunday  to  tea  at  five.  I  shall  keep  out  the  clamouring 
crowd,  so  that  we  may  discuss  any  high  matter  that  occurs 

^^^^'  * '  Yours  sincerely, 

*'RuBY  Chepstow." 

It  was  Wednesday  when  Isaacson  read,  and  re-read,  this 
note.  He  regretted  the  days  that  must  intervene  before  the 
Sunday  came.  For  he  feared  to  repent  his  betrayal.  And 
the  note  did  not  banish  this  fear.  More  than  once  he  did 
repent.  Then  he  and  Nigel  met  and  again  he  gave  conscious 
help  to  his  heart.  He  did  not  speak  to  Nigel  of  the  pro- 
jected visit,  and  Nigel  did  not  say  anything  more  about 
Mrs.  Chepstow.  Isaacson  wondered  at  this  reserve,  which 
seemed  to  him  unnatural  in  Nigel.  More  than  once  he 
found  himself  thinking  that  Nigel  regretted  what  he  had 
said  about  the  possibility  of  Mrs.  Chepstow  visiting  Egypt. 
But  of  this  he  could  not  be  sure.  On  Sunday,  at  a  few 
minutes  past  five,  he  arrived  at  the  Savoy,  and  was  taken 
to  Mrs.  Chepstow's  room. 

The  autumn  darkness  had  closed  over  London,  and  when 
he  came  into  the  room,  which  was  empty,  the  curtains  were 
drawn,  the  light  shone,  a  fire  was  blazing  on  the  hearth. 
Not  far  from  it  was  placed  a  tea-table,  close  to  a  big  sofa 
which  stood  out  at  right  angles  from  the  wall. 

There  were  quantities  of  white  carnations  in  vases  on 
the  mantel-piece,  on  the  writing-table,  and  on  the  top  of 
the  rosewood  piano.  The  piano  was  shut,  and  no  **Geron- 
tius"  was  visible. 

Meyer  Isaacson  stood  for  a  moment  looking  round,  feel- 
ing the  atmosphere  of  this  room,  or  at  least  trying  to  feel 
it    In  the  summer  had  it  not  seemed  a  little  lonely,  a  little 


BELLA  DONNA  101 

dreary,  a  chamber  to  escape  from,  despite  its  comfort  and 
pretty  colours?  Now  it  was  bright,  cosy,  even  hopeful. 
Yes,  he  breathed  a  hopeful  atmosphere. 

A  door  clicked.    Mrs.  Chepstow  came  in. 

She  wore  a  rose-coloured  dress,  cut  ■  yery  high  at  the 
throat,  with  tight  sleeves  that  came  partly" Over  her  hands, 
emphasizing  their  attractive  delicacy.  The  d,ress  was  Yevy 
plainly  made  and  seemed  moulded  to  her  beautiful  iiguce. 
She  had  no  hat  on,  but  Isaacson  had  never  before  been  so 
much  struck  by  her  height.  As  she  came  in,  she  looked 
immensely  tall.  And  there  was  some  marked  change  in  her 
appearance.  For  an  instant  he  did  not  know  what  it  was. 
Then  he  saw  that  she  had  given  to  her  cheeks  an  ethereal 
flush  of  red.  This  altered  her  extraordinarily.  It  made 
her  look  younger,  more  brilliant,  but  also  much  less  refined. 
She  smiled  gaily  as  she  took  his  hand.  She  enveloped  him 
at  once  with  a  definite  cheerfulness  which  came  to  him  as 
a  shock.  As  she  held  his  hand,  she  touched  the  bell.  Then 
she  drew  him  down  on  the  sofa,  with  a  sort  of  coaxing 
cordiality. 

''This  shall  be  better  than  Bank  Holiday,''  she  said. 
*'I  know  you  pitied  me  then.  You  wondered  how  I  could 
bear  it.  Now  I've  shut  out  the  river.  I'm  glad  you  never 
came  again  till  I  could  have  the  lights  and  the  fire.  I  love 
the  English  winters,  don't  you,  because  one  has  to  do  such 
delicious  things  to  keep  all  thought  of  them  out.  Now,  in 
the  hot  places  abroad,  that  people  are  always  raving  about, 
all  the  year  round  one  can  never  have  a  room  like  this,  an 
hour  like  this  by  a  clear  fire,  with  thick  curtains  drawn— 
and  a  friend." 

As  she  said  the  last  three  words,  her  voice  had  a  really 
beautiful  sound  in  it,  and  a  sound  that  was  surely  beau- 
tiful because  of  some  moral  quality  it  contained  or  sug- 
gested. More  than  a  whole  essay  of  Emerson's  did  this 
mere  sound  suggest  friendship.  The  leaves  of  the  book  of 
this  woman's  attractions  were  being  turned  one  by  one  for 
Isaacson.  And  of  all  her  attractions  her  voice  perhaps 
was  the  greatest. 


102  BELLA  DONNA 

The  waiter  came  in  with  tea.  When  he  had  gone,  the 
Doctor  could  speak. 

But  he  scarcely  knew  what  to  say.  Very  seldom  was  hia 
self-possession  disturbed.  To-day  he  felt  at  a  disadvantage. 
The  depression^  perhaps  chiefly  physical,  which  had  lately 
beeh*  brooding  over  him,  and  which  had  become  acute  at 
the  concert,  deepened  about  him  to-day,  made  him  feel 
morally  small.  •  Mrs.  Chepstow's  cheerfulness  seemed  like 
height.  For  a  moment  in  all  ways  she  towered  above  him, 
and  even  her  bodily  height  seemed  like  a  mental  triumph, 
or  a  triumph  of  her  will  over  his. 

* '  But  this  is  only  autumn, ' '  he  said. 

*  *  We  can  pretend  it  is  winter. ' ' 

She  gave  him  his  cup  of  tea,  with  the  same  gesture  that 
had  charmed  Nigel  on  the  day  when  he  first  visited  her. 
Then  she  handed  him  a  plate  with  little  bits  of  lemon  on  it. 

**IVe  found  out  your  tastes,  you  see.  I  know  you  never 
take  milk." 

He  was  obliged  to  feel  grateful.  Yet  something  in  him 
longed  to  refuse  the  lemon,  the  something  that  never  ceased 
from  denouncing  her.    He  uttered  the  right  banality  : 

' '  How  good  of  you  to  bother  about  me ! " 

**But  you  bother  about  me,  and  on  your  only  free  day! 
Don 't  you  think  I  am  grateful  to  you  ? ' ' 

There  was  no  mockery  in  her  voice.  To-day  her  irony 
was  concealed,  but,  like  a  carefully-covered  fire,  he  knew  it 
was  burning  still.  And  because  it  was  covered  he  resented 
it.  He  resented  this  comedy  they  were  playing,  the  insin- 
cerity into  which  she  was  smilingly  leading  him.  She  could 
not  imagine  that  she  deceived  him.  She  was  far  too  clever 
for  that.  Then  what  was  the  good  of  it  all  ? — that  she  had 
put  him,  that  she  kept  him,  at  a  disadvantage. 

She  handed  him  the  muffins.  She  ministered  to  him  as 
•f  she  wanted  to  pet  him.  Again  he  had  to  feel  grateful. 
Sven  in  acute  dislike  men  must  be  conscious  of  real  charm 
vn  a  woman.  And  Isaacson  did  not  know  how  to  ignore 
anything  that  was  beautiful.  Had  the  Devil  come  to  him 
— with  a  grace,  he  must  have  thought,  '*  How  graceful 


BELLA  DONNA  10^ 

is  the  Devil!  "  Now  he  was  charmed  by  her  gesture. 
Nevertheless,  being  a  man  of  will,  and,  in  the  main,  a  man 
who  was  very  sincere,  he  called  up  his  hard  resolutions, 
and  said: 

*'No,  I  don^t  think  you  are  grateful.  I  don't  think  you 
are  the  woman  to  be  grateful  without  a  cause. ' ' 

*'0r  with  one,''  he  mentally  added. 

**But  here  is  the  cause!" 

She  touched  his  sleeve.  And  suddenly,  with  that  touch, 
all  her  charm  for  him  vanished,  and  he  was  angry  with  her 
for  daring  to  treat  him  like  those  boys  by  whom  she  had  been 
surrounded,  for  daring  to  think  that  she  could  play  upon 
the  worst  in  him. 

**I'm  afraid  you  are  mistaken,"  he  said.  **I  am  no 
cause  for  your  gratitude." 

She  looked  more  cordial  and  natural  even  than  before. 

"But  I  think  you  are.  For  you  don't  really  like  me, 
and  yet  you  come  to  see  me.    That  is  unselfishness. ' ' 

*'Only  supposing  what  you  say  were  true,  and  that 
you  did  like  me." 

"I  do  like  you." 

She  said  it  quite  simply,  without  emphasis.  And  even 
to  him  it  sounded  true. 

*'  Some  day  perhaps  you  wiU  know  it." 

''But— I  do  not  believe  it." 

He  had  recovered  from  the  stroke  of  her  greatest 
weapon,  her  voice. 

''That  does  not  matter.  What  is  matters,  not  what 
some  one  thinks  is,  or  is  not." 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "What  is  matters.  I  have  come  here, 
not  to  pay  a  formal  call,  or  even  a  friendly  visit,  but, 
perhaps,  to  commit  an  impertinence." 

She  smilingly  moved  her  head,  and  handed  him  her 
cigarette-case. 

"No,  you  would  never  do  that." 

He  hesitated  to  take  a  cigarette — and  now  her  bright 
eyes  frankly  mocked  him,  and  said,  "A  cigarette  commits 
you  to  nothing!"     Certainly  she  knew  how  to  make  him 


101  BELLA  DONNA 

feel  almost  like  an  absurd  and  awkward  boy ;  or  was  it  hia 
feeling  of  overwork,  of  physical  depression,  that  was  dis- 
arming him  to-day? 

''Tliank  you." 

He  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  she  lighted  another,  still 
with  a  happy  air. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  he  asked. 

*'I  feel  it." 

"With  a  little  laugh,  she  reminded  him  of  his  saying 
about  women. 

*'You  are  wrong.    I  am  going  to  do  it,**  he  said. 

**But — do  you  really  think  it  an  impertinence?" 

He  was  beset  by  his  sensitive  dislike  to  mix  in  other 
people's  affairs,  but  almost  angrily  he  overcame  it. 

**I  don't  know.  You  may.  Mrs.  Chepstow,  you  were 
raving  just  now  about  the  delights  of  the  English  win- 
ter  " 

''Shut  out!"  she  interpolated. 

''Then  why  should  you  avoid  them?" 

"And  who  says  I  am  going  to?" 

"Are  not  you  going  to  Egypt?" 

She  settled  herself  in  the  angle  of  the  sofa. 

"Would  it  be  the  wrong  climate  for  me,  Doctor 
Isaacson  ? ' ' 

She  put  an  emphasis  on  "Doctor." 

"  I  am  not  talking  as  a  doctor." 

"Then  as  a  friend — or  as  an  enemy?" 

"  As  a  friend — of  his.  * ' 

"Of  whom?" 

"Of  Nigel  Armine." 

"  Because  he  is  working  in  the  Fayyum,  may  not  I  go 
ap  the  Nile?" 

"If  you  were  on  the  Nile,  Armine  would  not  be  in  the 
Fayyum. ' ' 

"You  are  anxious  about  his  reclaiming  of  the  desert? 
Have  you  put  money  into  his  land  scheme?" 

"You  think  I  only  care  for  money?"  he  said,  nettled, 
despite  himself,  at  the  sound  of  knowledge  in  her  voice. 
'What  do  you  know  of  me?" 


BELLA  DONNA  105 

'*Aiid  you— of  me?" 

She  still  spoke  lightly,  smilingly.  But  he  thought  of 
the  inexorable  beating  of  that  pulse  of  life — of  life,  and 
the  will  to  live  as  her  philosophy  desired. 

*'I  don't  wish  to  speak  of  any  knowledge  I  may  have 
of  you.    But — leave  Armine  in  the  Fayyum." 

*'Did  he  say  I  was  going  to  Egypt?'' 

"He  spoke  of  it  once  only.  Then  he  said  you  might 
go.'' 

'* Anything  else?" 

*'He  said  that  if  you  did  go  he  would  look  after  you." 

She  sat  looking  at  him  in  silence. 

*'And — why  not?"  she  said  at  last,  as  he  said  nothing 
more. 

''Others  have — looked  after  you." 

Her  face  did  not  change. 

** Doesn't  he  know  it?"  she  said. 

*'And  he  isn't  like — others." 

*  *  I  know  what  he  is  like. ' ' 

"When  she  said  that,  Isaacson  hated  her,  hated  her  for 
her  woman's  power  of  understanding,  and,  through  her 
understanding,  of  governing  men. 

''What  does  he  mean  by — looking  after  you?"  he  said. 

And  now,  almost  without  knowing  it,  he  spoke  sternly, 
and  his  dark  face  was  full  of  condemnation. 

*'What  did  you  mean  when  you  said  that  'others'  have 
done  it?" 

"Then  it  is  that!" 

Isaacson  had  not  meant  to  speak  the  words,  but  they 
escaped  from  his  lips.  No  passing  light  in  her  eyes  betrayed 
that  she  had  caught  the  reflection  of  the  thought  that  lay 
behind  them. 

"Men!  Men!"  his  mind  was  saying.  "And — even 
Armine ! ' ' 

"  You  are  afraid  for  the  Fayytlm?  "  she  said. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Chepstow!"  he  began,  with  a  sudden  vehe- 
mence that  suggested  the  unchaining  of  a  nature.  Then 
he  stopped.  Behind  his  silence  there  was  a  flood  of  words 
— words  to  describe  her  temperament  and  Armine 's,  her 


106  BELLA  DONNA 

mode  of  life  and  Armine's,  what  she  deserved — and  he; 
words  that  would  have  painted  for  Mrs.  Chepstow  not  only 
the  good  in  Isaacson's  friend,  but  also  the  secret  good  in 
Isaacson,  shown  in  his  love  of  it,  his  desire  to  keep  it  out 
of  the  mud.  And  it  was  just  this  secret  good  that  pre- 
vented Isaacson  from  speaking.  He  could  not  bear  to  show 
it  to  this  woman.  Instinctively  she  knew,  appreciated,  what 
was,  perhaps,  not  high-minded  in  him.  Let  her  be  content 
with  that  knowledge.  He  would  not  make  her  the  gift  of 
his  goodness. 

And — to  do  so  would  be  useless. 

''Yes?'' she  said. 

She  sat  up  on  the  sofa.    She  was  looking  lightly  curious. 

*'If  you  do  go  to  the  Nile,  let  me  wish  you  a  happy 
winter." 

He  was  once  more  the  self-possessed  Doctor  so  many 
women  liked. 

*'If  I  go,  I  shall  know  how  to  make  him  happy,"  she 
replied,  echoing  his  cool  manner,  despite  her  more  earnest 
words. 

He  got  up.  Again  he  hated  her  for  her  knowledge  of 
mem.  He  hated  her  so  much  that  he  longed  to  be  away 
from  her.  Why  should  she  be  allowed  to  take  a  life  like 
Armine's  into  her  soiled  hands,  even  if  she  could  make  him 
happy  for  a  time,  being  a  mistress  of  deception? 

''Good-bye." 

He  just  touched  her  hand. 

*' Good-bye.    I  am  grateful.    You  know  why.** 

Again  she  sent  him  that  cordial  smile.  He  left  her 
standing  up  by  the  hearth.  The  glow  from  the  flames 
played  over  her  rose-coloured  gown.  Her  beautiful  head 
was  turned  towards  the  door  to  watch  him  go.  In  one  hand 
she  held  her  cigarette.  Its  tiny  wreath  of  smoke  curled 
lightly  about  her,  mounting  up  in  the  warm,  bright  room. 
Her  figure,  the  shape  of  her  head,  her  eyes — they  looked 
really  lovely.  She  was  still  the  "Bella  Donna"  men  had 
talked  about  so  long.  But  as  he  went  out,  he  saw  the  tiny 
wrinkles  near  her  eyes,  the  slight  hardness  about  her  cheek- 
bones, the  cynical  droop  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 


BELLA  DONNA  107 

Armine  did  not  see  them.  He  could  not  make  Armine 
see  them.  Armine  saw  only  the  beauties  she  possessed. 
His  concentration  on  them  made  for  blindness. 

And  yet  even  he  had  his  ugliness.  For  now  Isaacson 
believed  in  the  liaison  between  him  and  Mrs.  Chepstow. 

Only  eight  days  later,  after  Mrs.  Chepstow  and  Nigel 
had  sailed  for  Alexandria,  did  he  learn  that  they  were 
married. 


XI 

Immediately  after  their  marriage  at  a  registrar's  office, 
Nigel  and  his  wife,  with  a  maid,  and  a  great  many  trunks 
of  varying  shapes  and  sizes,  travelled  to  Naples  and  em- 
barked on  the  Hohenzollern  for  Egypt,  where  Nigel  had 
rented  for  the  winter  the  Villa  Ajidroud,  on  the  bank  of 
the  Nile  near  Luxor. 

Nigel  was  happy,  but  he  was  not  wholly  free  from 
anxiety,  although  he  was  careful  to  keep  that  anxiety  from 
his  wife,  and  desired  even  sometimes  to  deny  that  it  existed 
to  himself.  In  making  this  marriage  he  had  obeyed  the 
cry  of  two  voices  within  him,  the  voice  of  the  senses  and  the 
voice  of  the  soul.  He  did  not  know  which  had  sounded 
most  clearly;  he  did  not  know  which  inclination  had  pre- 
vailed over  him  most  strongly,  the  longing  for  a  personal 
joy,  or  the  pitiful  desire  to  shed  happiness  and  peace  on 
a  darkened  and  soiled  existence.  The  future  perhaps  would 
tell  him.  Meanwhile  he  put  before  him  one  worthy  aim, 
to  be  the  perfect  husband. 

Although  the  month  was  November,  and  the  rush  for 
the  Nile  had  not  begun,  the  Hohenzollern  was  crowded  with 
passengers,  and  when  the  Armines  came  into  the  dining- 
room  for  lunch,  as  the  vessel  was  leaving  Naples,  every 
place  was  already  taken. 

**Give  us  a  table  upstairs  alone,"  said  Nigel  to  the 
head-steward,  putting  something  into  his  hand.  ''We  shall 
like  that  ever  so  much  better." 

He  had  caught  sight  of  a  number  of  staring  English 


108  BELLA  DONNA 

faces,  on  some  of  which  there  seemed  to  be  more  than  the 
dawning  of  a  recognition  of  Mrs.  Armine. 

As  if  mechanically  the  rosy  Prussian  retained  the  some- 
thing, and  replied,  with  a  strong  German  accent: 

*'I  must  give  you  the  table  at  the  top  of  the  staircase, 
sir,  but  I  cannot  promise  that  you  will  be  alone.  If  there 
are  any  more  to  come,  they  will  have  to  sit  with  you.^' 

** Anyhow,  put  us  there." 

**Pray  that  we  have  this  to  ourselves  for  the  voyage, 
Ruby, '  ^  said  Nigel,  a  moment  later,  as  they  sat  side  by  side 
on  a  white  settee  close  to  the  open  door  which  led  out  on 
to  the  deck  at  the  top  of  the  main  companion. 

As  he  finished  speaking,  a  steward  appeared,  quickly 
conducting  to  their  table  a  tall  and  broad  young  man,  who 
made  them  a  formal  bow,  and  composedly  sat  down  opposite 
to  them. 

He  was  remarkably  well  dressed  in  clothes  which  must 
have  been  cut  by  an  English  tailor,  and  which  he  wore  with 
a  carelessness  almost  English,  but  also  with  an  easy  grace 
that  was  utterly  foreign.  Thin,  with  mighty  shoulders 
and  an  exceptionally  deep  chest,  it  was  obvious  that  his 
strength  must  be  enormous.  His  neck  looked  as  powerful 
as  a  bull's,  and  his  rather  small  head  was  poised  upon  it 
with  a  sort  of  triumphant  boldness.  His  hair  was  black  and 
curly,  his  forehead  very  broad,  his  nose  short,  straight,  and 
determined,  with  wide  and  ardent  nostrils.  Under  a  small 
but  dense  moustache  his  lips  were  thick  and  rather  pouting. 
His  chin,  thrust  slightly  forward  in  a  manner  almost 
aggressive,  showed  the  dusk  of  close-shaven  hair.  The 
tint  of  his  skin,  though  dark,  was  clear — had  even  some* 
thing  of  delicacy.  His  hands,  broad,  brown,  and  muscular, 
had  very  strong-looking  fingers  which  narrowed  slightly 
at  the  tips.  His  eyes  were  large  and  black,  were  set  in 
his  head  with  an  almost  singular  straightness,  and  were 
surmounted  by  brows  which,  depressed  towards  the  nose, 
sloped  upwards  towards  the  temples.  These  brows  gave  to 
the  eyes  beneath  them,  even  to  the  whole  face,  a  curiously 
distinctive  look  of  open  resolution,  which  was  seizing,  and 


BELLA  DONNA  109 

attractive  or  unattractive  according  to  the  temperament  of 
the  beholder. 

He  took  up  the  carte  du  jour,  studied  it  at  length  and 
with  obvious  care,  then  gave  an  order  in  excellent  French, 
which  the  steward  hastened  away  to  carry  out.  This  done, 
he  twisted  his  moustaches  and  looked  calmly  at  his  com- 
panions, not  curiously,  but  rather  as  if  he  regarded  them 
with  a  polite  indifference,  and  merely  because  they  were 
near  him.  Mrs.  Armine  seemed  quite  unaware  of  his 
scrutiny,  but  Nigel  spoke  to  him  almost  immediately,  mak- 
ing some  remark  about  the  ship  in  English.  The  stranger 
answered  in  the  same  language,  but  with  a  strong  foreign 
accent.  He  seemed  quite  willing  to  talk.  He  apologized 
for  interrupting  their  tete-a-tete,  but  said  he  had  no  choice, 
as  the  saloon  was  completely  full.  They  declared  they 
were  quite  ready  for  company,  Nigel  with  his  usual  sym- 
pathetic geniality,  Mrs.  Armine  with  a  sort  of  graceful 
formality  beneath  which — or  so  her  husband  fancied — 
there  was  just  a  suspicion  of  reluctance.  He  guessed  that 
she  would  have  much  preferred  a  private  table,  but  when 
he  said  so  to  her,  as  they  were  taking  their  coffee  on  deck, 
she  answered: 

'*No,  what  does  it  matter?  We  shall  so  soon  be  in  our 
own  house.  Tell  me  about  the  villa,  Nigel,  and  Luxor. 
You  know  I  have  never  seen  it.'* 

With  little  more  than  a  word  she  had  deftly  flicked  the 
intruding  stranger  out  of  their  lives,  she  had  concentrated 
herself  on  Nigel.  He  felt  that  all  her  force,  like  a  strong 
and  ardent  stream,  was  flowing  into  the  new  channel  which 
he  had  cut  for  her.  He  obeyed  her.  He  told  her  about 
Egypt.  And  as  he  talked,  and  watched  her  listening,  he 
began  to  feel  thoroughly  for  the  first  time  the  vital  change 
in  his  life,  and  something  within  him  rejoiced,  that  was 
surely  his  manhood  singing. 

The  voyage  passed  swiftly  by,  attended  by  perfect 
weather,  calm,  radiant,  blue — weather  that  releases  human- 
ity from  any  bonds  of  depression  into  a  joyous  world.  Yet 
for  the  Armines  it  was  not  without  an  unpleasant  incident. 


110  BELLA  DONNA 

Among  the  pasengers  were  a  Lord  and  Lady  Hayman, 
whom  Nigel  Armine  knew,  and  whom  Mrs.  Armine  had 
known  in  the  days  when  London  had  loved  her.  It  was 
impossible  not  to  meet  them,  equally  impossible  not  to  per- 
ceive their  cold  confusion  at  each  encounter,  shown  by  a 
sudden  interest  in  empty  seas  and  unpopulated  horizons. 
That  they  mistook  the  situation  was  so  evident  to  Nigel 
that  one  day  he  managed  to  confront  Lord  Hayman  in  the 
smoke-room  and  to  have  it  out  with  him. 

"Congratulate  you,  I'm  sure,  congratulate  you!'* 
murmured  that  gentleman,  whose  practical  brown  eyes 
became  suddenly  wells  full  of  ironical  amazement.  **  Tell 
my  wife  at  once.    Knew  nothing  at  all  about  it." 

He  got  away,  with  a  moribund  cigar  between  his  teeth, 
and  no  doubt  informed  Lady  Hayman,  who  thereafter 
bowed  to  Nigel,  but  with  a  reluctant  muscular  movement 
that  adequately  expressed  an  inward  moral  surprise  mingled 
with  condemnation.  Mrs.  Armine  seemed  totally  undis- 
turbed by  these  demonstrations,  her  only  comment  upon 
the  lady  being  that  it  was  really  strange  that  *'in  these 
days"  any  one  could  be  found  to  wear  magenta  and  red 
together,  especially  any  one  with  a  complexion  like  Lady 
Hayman 's.  And  her  astonishment  at  the  triple  combina- 
tion of  colours  seemed  so  simple,  so  sincere,  that  it  had  to 
be  believed  in  as  merely  an  emanation  from  an  artistic 
temperament.  It  was  probable  that  the  Haymans  told 
other  English  on  the  Hohenzollern  the  news  of  Nigel's 
marriage,  for  several  of  the  faces  that  had  stared  from  the 
luncheon-tables  continued  to  stare  on  the  deck,  but  with  a 
slightly  different  expression ;  the  sheer,  dull  curiosity  being 
exchanged  for  that  half-satirical  interest  with  which  the 
average  person  of  British  blood  regards  a  newly-married 
couple. 

This  contemplation  of  them  made  Nigel  secretly  angry, 
and  awoke  in  him  a  great  and  peculiar  tenderness  for  his 
wife,  founded  on  a  suddenly  more  acute  understanding  of 
the  brutality  of  the  ostracism,  combined  with  notoriety, 
which  she  had  endured  in  recent  vears.     Now  at  last  she 


BELLA  DONNA  111 

had  some  one  to  protect  her.  His  heart  enfolded  her  with 
ample  wings.  But  he  longed  to  be  free  from  this  erowd, 
from  which  on  a  ship  they  could  not  escape,  and  they  spoke 
to  no  one  during  the  voyage  except  to  their  companion  at 
neals. 

With  him  they  were  soon  on  the  intimate  terms  of  ship- 
board— ^terms  that  commit  one  to  nothing  in  the  future 
irhen  land  is  reached.  Although  he  was  dressed  like  an 
Englishman,  and  on  deck  wore  a  straw  hat  with  the  word 
*'  Scott  '*  inside  it,  he  soon  let  them  know  that  his  name 
was  Mahmoud  Baroudi,  that  his  native  place  was  Alex- 
andria, that  he  was  of  mixed  Greek  and  Egyptian  blood, 
and  that  he  was  a  man  of  great  energy  and  will,  interested 
in  many  schemes,  pulling  the  strings  of  many 
enterprises. 

He  spoke  always  with  a  certain  polite  but  bold  indiffer- 
ence, as  if  he  cared  very  little  what  impression  he  made  on 
others ;  and  all  the  information  that  he  gave  about  himself 
was  dropped  out  in  a  careless,  casual  way  that  seemed 
expressive  of  his  character.  The  high  rank,  the  great  riches 
of  his  father  he  rather  implied  than  definitely  mentioned. 
Only  when  he  talked  of  his  occupations  was  he  more  defi- 
nite, more  strongly  personal.  Nigel  gathered  that  he  was 
essentially  a  man  of  affairs,  had  nothing  in  common  with 
the  tj^pical  lazy  Eastern,  who  loves  to  sit  in  the  sun,  to 
suffer  the  will  of  Allah,  and  to  fill  the  years  with  dreams ; 
that  he  was  cool,  clear-headed,  and  full  of  the  marked 
commercial  ability  characteristic  of  the  modern  Greek. 
Whether  this  aptitude  was  combined  with  the  sinuous  cun- 
ning that  is  essentially  Oriental  Nigel  did  not  know.  He 
certainly  could  not  perceive  it.  All  that  Baroudi  said  was 
said  with  clearness,  and  a  sort  of  acute  precision,  whether 
he  discussed  the  land  question,  the  irrigation  works  on 
the  Nile,  the  great  boom  of  1906,  in  which  such  gigantic 
fortunes  were  made,  or  the  cotton  and  sugar  industries,  in 
both  of  which  he  was  interested.  The  impression  he  con- 
veyed to  Nigel  was  that  he  was  born  to  * '  get  on  '  *  in  what- 
ever he  undertook,  and  that  in  almost  any  form  of  activity 


112  BELLA  DONNA 

he  could  be  a  fine  ally,  or  an  equally  fine  opponent.  That 
he  was  fond  of  sport  was  soon  apparent.  He  spoke  with  an 
enthusiasm  that  was  always  mingled  with  a  certain  serene 
insouciance  of  the  horses  he  had  bred  and  of  the  races  he 
had  won  in  Alexandria  and  Cairo,  of  yachting,  of  big-game 
shooting  up  the  Nile  beyond  Khartum  in  the  country  of  the 
Shillouks,  and  of  duck,  pigeon,  and  jackal  shooting  in  the 
FayyUm  and  on  the  sacred  Lake  of  Kurun. 

Nigel  found  him  an  excellent  fellow,  the  most  sym- 
pathetic and  energetic  man  of  Eastern  blood  whom  he  had 
ever  encountered.  Mrs.  Armine  spoke  of  him  more  tem- 
perately; he  did  not  seem  to  interest  her,  and  Nigel  was 
confirmed  by  her  lack  of  appreciation  in  an  idea  that  had 
already  occurred  to  him.  He  believed  that  Baroudi  was 
a  man  who  did  not  care  for  women,  except,  no  doubt,  as 
the  occasional  and  servile  distractions  of  an  unoccupied 
hour  in  the  harem.  He  was  always  very  polite  to  Mrs. 
Armine,  but  when  he  talked  he  soon,  as  if  almost  instinc- 
tively, addressed  himself  to  Nigel;  and  once  or  twice, 
when  Mrs.  Armine  left  them  alone  together  over  their  coffee 
and  cigars,  he  seemed  to  Nigel  to  become  another  man,  to 
expand  almost  into  geniality,  to  be  not  merely  self-possessed 
— that  faculty  never  failed  him — but  to  be  more  happily  at 
his  ease,  more  racy,  more  ready  for  intimacy.  Probably 
he  was  governed  by  the  Oriental's  conception  of  woman  as 
an  inferior  sex,  and  was  unable  to  be  quite  at  home  in  the 
complete  equality  and  ease  of  the  English  relation  with 
women. 

When  the  Hohenzolleni  sighted  Alexandria,  Baroudi 
went  below  for  a  moment.  He  reappeared  wearing  the 
fez.  They  bade  each  other  good-bye  in  the  harbour,  with 
the  usual  vague  hopes  of  a  further  meeting  that  do  duty 
on  such  occasions,  and  that  generally  end  in  nothing. 

Mrs.  Armine  seemed  glad  to  be  rid  of  him  and  to  be 
alone  with  her  husband. 

** Don't  let  us  stay  in  Cairo,*'  she  said.  **I  want  to 
go  up  the  river.    I  want  to  be  in  the  Villa  Androud." 

After  one  night  at  Shepheard's  they  started  for  Luxor, 


BELLA  DONNA  113 

or  rather  for  Keneh,  where  they  got  out  in  the  early  morn- 
ing to  visit  the  temple  of  Denderah,  taking  a  later  train 
which  brought  them  to  Luxor  towards  evening,  just  as  the 
gold  of  the  sunset  was  beginning  to  steal  into  the  sky  and  to 
cover  the  river  with  glory. 

Mrs.  Armine  was  fatigued  by  the  journey,  and  by  the 
long  day  at  Denderah,  which  had  secretly  depressed  her. 
She  looked  out  of  the  window  of  their  compartment  at  the 
green  plains  of  doura,  at  the  almost  naked  brown  men  bend- 
ing rhythmically  by  the  shadufs,  at  the  children  passing  on 
donkeys,  and  the  women  standing  at  gaze  with  corners  of 
their  dingy  garments  held  fast  between  their  teeth;  and 
she  felt  as  if  she  still  saw  the  dark  courts  of  Hathor's 
dwelling,  as  if  she  still  heard  the  cries  of  the  enormous 
bats  that  inhabit  them.  When  the  train  stopped,  she  got  up 
slowly,  and  let  Nigel  help  her  down  to  the  platform. 

*  *  Is  the  villa  far  away  1 ' '  she  said,  looking  round  on  the 
crowd  of  staring  Egyptians. 

**No,  I  want  you  to  walk  to  it.    Do  you  mind?" 

His  eyes  demanded  a  "no,"  and  she  gave  it  him  with 
a  good  grace  that  ought  to  have  been  written  down  to  her 
credit  by  the  pen  of  the  recording  angel.  They  set  out 
to  walk  to  the  villa.  As  they  went  through  the  little  town, 
Nigel  pointed  out  the  various  ** objects  of  interest":  the 
antiquity  shops,  where  may  be  purchased  rings,  necklaces, 
and  amulets,  blue  and  green  ''servants  of  the  dead," 
scarabs,  winged  discs,  and  mummy-cases;  the  mosque,  a 
Coptic  church,  cafes,  the  garden  of  the  Hotel  de  Luxor, 
lie  greeted  several  friends  of  humble  origin:  the  black 
barber  who  called  himself  ''Mr.  White";  Ahri  Achmed, 
the  Folly  of  Luxor,  who  danced  and  gibbered  at  Mrs. 
Armine  and  cried  out  a  welcome  in  many  languages; 
Hassan,  the  one-eyed  pipe-player ;  and  Hamza,  the  praying 
donkey-boy,  who  in  winter  stole  all  the  millionaires  from 
his  protesting  comrades  and  in  summer  sat  with  the  der- 
vishes in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  mosques. 

"You  seem  to  be  as  much  at  home  here  as  in  London,*' 
said  Mrs.  Armine,  in  a  voice  that  was  rather  vague. 
8 


114  BELLA  DONNA 

'*Ten  times  more,  Ruby.  And  so  will  you  be  soon.  I 
love  a  little  place.'' 

*'Yes?" 

After  a  pause  she  added : 

**Are  there  many  villas  here?" 

**Only  two  on  the  bank  of  the  Nile.  One  belongs  to  a 
Dutchman.     Our  villa  is  the  other." 

*'Only  two — and  one  belongs  to  a  Dutchman!"  she 
thought. 

And  she  wondered  about  their  winter. 

''When  IVe  settled  you  in,  I  must  run  off  to  the  Fay- 
yum  to  see  how  the  work  is  going,  and  rig  up  something 
for  you.  I  want  to  take  you  there  soon,  but  it's  really  in 
the  wilds,  and  I  didn't  like  to  straight  away.  Besides  I 
was  afraid  you  might  be  dull  and  unhappy  without  any 
of  your  comforts.    And  I  do  want  you  to  be  happy." 

There  was  an  anxiety  that  was  almost  wistful  in  his 
voice. 

**I  do  want  you  to  like  Egypt,"  he  added,  like  an  eager 
boy. 

*'I  am  sure  I  shall  like  it,  Nigel.  There's  no  Casino,  I 
suppose?" 

*  *  Good  heavens,  no !  What  should  one  do  with  a  Casino 
here?" 

*'0h,  they  sometimes  have  one,  even  in  places  like  this. 
A  friend  of  mine  who  went  to  Biskra  told  me  there  was  one 
there." 

''Look  at  that,  Ruby !  That's  better  than  any  Casino — 
don't  you  think?" 

They  had  turned  to  the  left  and  come  to  the  river  bank. 

All  the  Nile  was  flooded  with  gold,  in  which  there  were 
eddies  of  pale  mauve  and  distant  flushes  of  a  red  that 
resembled  the  red  on  the  wing  of  a  flamingo.  The  clear 
and  radiant  sky  was  drowned  in  a  quivering  radiance  of 
gold,  that  was  like  a  thing  alive  and  sensitively  palpitating. 
The  far-off  palms,  the  lofty  river  banks  that  framed  the 
Nile's  upper  reaches,  the  birds  that  flew  south,  following 
the  direction  of  the  breeze,  the  bats  that  wheeled  about  the 


BELLA  DONNA  115 

great  columns  of  the  temple,  the  boats  that  with  wide- 
spread lateen  sails  went  southward  with  the  birds,  were 
like  motionless  and  moving  jewels  of  black  against  the 
vibrant  gold.  And  the  crenellated  mountains  of  Libya, 
beyond  Thebes  and  the  tombs  of  the  Kings,  stood  like  spec- 
tral sentinels  at  their  posts  till  the  pageant  should  be  over. 

*' Isn't  it  wonderful,  Ruby?" 

* '  Yes, ' '  she  said.    *  *  Quite  wonderful. ' ' 

She  honestly  thought  it  superb,  but  the  dust  in  her  hair 
and  in  her  skirts,  the  lassitude  that  seemed  to  hang,  almost 
like  spiders'  webs  about  wood,  about  the  body  which  con- 
tained her  tired  spirit,  restrained  her  enthusiasm  from 
being  a  match  for  his.  Perhaps  she  knew  this  and  wished 
to  come  up  with  him,  for  she  added,  throwing  a  warm  sound 
into  her  voice : 

''It  is  exquisite.  It  is  the  most  magical  thing  I  have 
ever  seen. ' ' 

She  touched  her  veil,  as  she  spoke,  and  put  up  her  hand 
to  her  hair  behind.  Two  Frenchmen,  talking  with  sonorous 
voices,  were  just  then  passing  them  on  the  road. 

*'I  didn't  know  any  sunset  could  be  so  marvellous." 

She  was  still  touching  her  hair,  and  now  she  felt  clothed 
in  dust;  and,  with  the  ardour  of  a  fastidious  woman  who 
has  not  seen  the  inside  of  a  dressing-room  for  twenty-four 
hours,  she  longed  to  be  rid  both  of  the  sunset  and  of  the 
man. 

''Where  is  the  viUa,  Nigel?" 

"Not  ten  minutes  away." 

The  spirit  groaned  within  her,  and  she  went  resolutely 
forward,  passing  the  Winter  Palace  Hotel. 

' '  What  a  huge  hotel — but  it  isn  't  open ! ' '  she  said. 

"It  will  be  almost  directly.  We  turn  to  the  right  down 
here." 

Some  large  rats  were  playing  on  the  uneven  stones  close 
to  the  river ;  from  a  little  shed  close  by  there  came  the  dull 
puffing  of  an  engine. 

"Where  on  earth  are  we  going,  Nigel?  This  is  only  a 
donkey  track." 


116  BELLA  DONNA 


ti 


It's  all  right.  Just  wait  a  minute.  There *s  the  Dutch- 
man's  castle,  and  we  are  just  beyond  it.  Am  I  walking 
too  fast  for  you,  Ruby?" 

*'No,  no.'' 

She  hurried  on.  Her  whole  body  was  clamouring  for 
warm  water  with  a  certain  essence  dissolved  in  it,  for  a 
change  of  stockings  and  shoes,  for  a  tea-gown,  for  a  sofa 
with  a  tea-table  beside  it,  for  a  hundred  and  one  things 
his  manhood  did  not  dream  of. 

*'Here  it  is  at  last!"  he  said. 

A  tall  and  amiable-looking  boy  in  a  flowing  gold-col- 
oured robe  suddenly  appeared  before  them,  holding  open  a 
wooden  gate,  through  which  they  passed  into  a  garden. 

**Hulloh,  Ibrahim!"  cried  Nigel. 

*'IIuUoh,  my  gentleman!"  returned  the  boy,  inclining 
his  body  towards  Mrs.  Armine  and  touching  his  fez  with 
his  hand.  **I  am  Ibrahim  Ahmed,  my  lady,  the  special 
servant  called  a  dragoman  of  my  Lord  Arminigel.  I  can 
read  the  hieroglyphs,  and  I  am  always  young  and 
cheerful." 

He  took  Nigel's  right  han^,  kissed  it  and  placed  it 
against  his  forehead  rapidly  three  times  in  succession, 
smiled,  and  looked  sideways  on  the  ground. 

**I  am  always  young  and  cheerful,"  he  repeated,  softly 
and  dreamily.  He  picked  a  red  rose  from  a  bush,  placed 
it  between  his  white  teeth,  and  turned  to  conduct  them  to 
the  white  house  that  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  garden  per- 
haps a  hundred  yards  away. 

**What  a  nice  boy!"  said  Mrs.  Armine. 

*'He's  been  my  dragoman  before.  This  is  our  little 
domain." 

Mrs.  Armine  saw  a  flat  expanse  of  brown  and  sun-dried 
earth,  completely  devoid  of  grass,  and  divided  roughly  into 
sunken  beds  containing  small  orange-trees,  mimosas,  rose- 
bushes, poinsettias,  and  geraniums.  It  was  bounded  on 
three  sides  by  earthen  walls  and  on  the  fourth  side  by  the 
Nile. 

''*Is  it  not  beautiful,  mees?"  said  IbrahinL 


BELLA  DONNA  117 

Mrs.  Armine  b^an  to  laugh. 

*'He  takes  me  for  a  vieille  fille!^'  she  said.  **Is  it  a 
compliment,  Nigel?  Ibrahim," — ^she  touched  the  boy*s 
robe — ' '  won 't  you  give  me  that  rose  ? ' ' 

*'My  lady,  I  will  give  you  all  what  you  want." 

Already  she  had  fascinated  him.  As  she  took  the  rose, 
which  he  offered  with  a  salaam,  she  began  to  look  quite 
gay. 

*'A11  what  you  want  you  must  have/'  continued  Ibra- 
him, gravely. 

''Ibrahim  reads  my  thoughts  like  a  true  Eastern !"  said 
Nigel. 

''What  I  want  now  is  a  bath,"  remarked  Mrs.  Armine, 
smelling  the  rose. 

"Directly  we  have  had  one  more  look  at  the  Nile  from 
our  own  garden,"  exclaimed  Nigel. 

But  she  had  stopped  before  the  house. 

*'I  can't  take  my  bath  in  the  Nile.    Good-bye,  Nigel!" 

Before  he  could  say  a  word  she  had  crossed  a  little 
terrace,  disappeared  through  a  French  window,  and  van- 
ished  into  the  villa. 

Ibrahim  smiled,  hung  his  head,  and  then  murmured  in 
a  deep  contralto  voice: 

"The  wife  of  my  Lord  Arminigel,  she  does  not  want 
Ibrahim  any  more,  she  does  not  want  the  Nile,  she  wants  to 
be  all  alone." 

He  shook  his  head,  which  drooped  on  his  long  and  gentle 
brown  neck,  sighed,  and  repeated  dreamily: 

"She  wants  to  be  all  alone." 

"We'll  leave  her  alone  for  a  little  and  go  and  look  at 
the  gold." 

Meanwhile  within  the  house  Mrs.  Armine  was  calling 
impatiently  for  her  maid. 

"For  mercy's  sake,  undress  me.  I  am  a  mass  of  dust, 
and  looking  perfectly  dreadful.  Is  the  bath  ready?"  she 
asked,  as  the  girl,  who  had  come  running,  showed  her  into 
a  good-sized  bedroom. 

The  maid,  who  was  not  the  red-eyed  maid  Nigel  had  met 


118  BELLA  DONNA 

at  the  Savoy,  shrugged  up  her  small  shoulders,  and  ex- 
tended her  little,  greedy  hands. 

**It  is  ready,  madame;  but  the  water — oh,  Id,  Id!" 

** What's  the  matter.    "What  do  you  mean?" 

**The  water  is  the  colour  of  madame  *s  morning  choco- 
late/' 

*'0h!''  said  Mrs.  Armine,  almost  with  a  sound  of 
despair. 

She  sank  into  a  chair,  taking  in  with  a  glance  every 
detail  of  the  chamber,  which  had  been  furnished  and 
arranged  by  a  rich  and  consumptive  Frenchman  who  had 
lived  there  with  his  mistress  and  had  recently  died  at  Cairo. 

"Bring  me  the  mirror  from  my  dressing-case,  and  get 
me  out  of  this  gown." 

Marie  hastened  to  fetch  the  mirror,  into  which,  after 
unpinning  and  removing  her  hat  and  veil,  Mrs.  Armine 
looked  long  and  earnestly. 

** There  are  no  women  servants,  madame." 

"All  the  servants  here  are  men,  madame,  and  all  are  as 
black  as  boots." 

"Shut  the  door  into  monsieur *s  room,  and  don't  chatter 
so  much.    My  head  is  simply  splitting." 

•  ••••• 

"What  are  you  doing?  One  would  think  you  had 
never  seen  a  corset  before.  Don 't  fumble !  If  you  fumble, 
I  shall  pack  you  off  to  Paris  by  the  first  train  to-morrow 
morning.    Now  where 's  the  bath  ? '  * 

Marie,  wrinkling  up  her  nose,  which  looked  like  a  note 
of  interrogation,  led  the  way  into  the  bathroom,  and 
pointed  to  the  water  with  a  grimace. 

"  Voild,  madame ! ' ' 

**Mon  DieuT'  said  Mrs.  Armine. 

She  stared  at  the  water,  and  repeated  her  exclamation. 

"That  makes  pity  to  think  that  madame " 

"Have  you  put  in  the  eau  de  paradisf" 

"But  certainly,  madame." 


BELLA  DONNA  119 

''Very  well  then— ugh!" 

She  shuddered  with  disgust  as  the  rich  brown  water  of 
the  Nile  came  up  to  her  breast,  to  her  chin. 

''And  to  think  that  it  looked  golden,"  she  murmured, 
"when  we  were  standing  on  the  bank!" 


XII 

Soon  after  half -past  eight  that  evening,  when  darkness 
lay  over  the  Nile  and  over  the  small  garden  of  the  villa, 
a  tall  Nubian  servant,  dressed  in  white  with  a  scarlet 
girdle,  spread  two  prayer  rugs  on  the  terrace  before  the 
French  windows  of  the  drawing-room,  and  placed  upon 
them  a  coffee-table  and  two  arm-chairs.  At  first  he  put  the 
chairs  a  good  way  apart,  and  looked  at  them  very  gravely. 
Then  he  set  them  quite  close  together,  and  relaxed  into  a 
smile.  And  before  he  had  finished  smiling,  over  the 
parquet  floor  behind  him  there  came  the  light  rustle  of  a 
dress.  The  Nubian  servant  turned  round  and  gazed  at 
Mrs.  Armine,  who  had  stopped  beside  a  table  and  was 
looking  about  the  room;  a  white-and-yellow  room,  gaily 
but  rather  sparsely  furnished,  that  harmonized  well  with 
the  fair  beauty  which  moved  the  black  man's,  soul. 

He  thought  her  very  wonderful.  The  pallor  of  her 
face,  the  delicate  lustre  of  her  hair,  quite  overcame  his 
temperament,  and  when  she  caught  sight  of  him  and  smiled, 
and  observed  the  contrast  between  the  snowy  white  of  his 
turban,  his  scarlet  girdle  and  babouches,  and  the  black 
lustre  of  his  skin,  with  eyes  that  frankly  admired,  he  com- 
pared her  secretly  to  the  little  moon  that  lights  up  the 
Eastern  night.  He  went  softly  to  fetch  the  coffee,  while 
she  stepped  out  on  to  the  terrace. 

At  first  she  stood  quite  still,  and  stared  at  the  bit  of 
garden  which  revealed  itself  in  the  darkness;  at  the  dry 
earth,  the  untriramed,  wild-looking  rose-bushes,  and  the 
little  mimosa-trees,  vague  almost  as  pretty  shadows.  A 
thin,  dark-brown  dog,  with  pale  yellow  eyes,  slunk  in  from 


120  BELLA  DONNA 

the  night  and  stood  near  her,  trembling  and  furtively 
watching  her.  She  had  not  seen  it  yet,  for  now  she  was 
gazing  up  at  the  sky,  which  was  peopled  with  myriads  of 
stars,  those  piercingly  bright  stars  which  look  down  from 
African  skies.  The  brown  dog  trembled  and  blinked,  keep- 
ing his  yellow  eyes  upon  her,  looked  self-consciously  down 
sideways,  then  looked  at  her  again. 

From  the  hidden  river  there  came  a  distant  song  of  boat- 
men, one  of  those  vehement  and  yet  sad  songs  of  the  Nile 
that  the  Nubian  waterman  loves. 

''Sh— sh— sh!" 

Mrs.  Armine  had  caught  sight  of  the  dog.  She  hissed 
at  him  angrily,  and  made  a  threatening  gesture  with  her 
hands,  which  sent  him  slinking  back  to  the  darkness. 

"What  is  it,  Ruby?"  called  out  a  strong  voice  from 
above. 

She  started. 

*'0h,  are  you  there,  Nigel?" 

*'Yes.    What's  the  matter?" 

**It  was  only  a  dreadful-looking  dog.  What  are  you 
doing  up  there  ? ' ' 

*'I  was  looking  at  the  stars.  Aren't  they  wonderful 
to-night?" 

There  was  in  his  voice  a  sound  of  warm  yet  abnost 
childlike  enthusiasm,  with  which  she  was  becoming  very 
familiar. 

''Yes,  marvellous.  Oh,  there's  the  dog  again!  Sh — 
sh— sh!" 

''I'll  come  down  and  drive  it  away." 

In  a  moment  he  was  with  her. 

"Where  is  the  little  beast?" 

"It's  gone  again.  I  frightened  it.  Oh,  you've  brought 
me  a  cloak,  you  thoughtful  person." 

She  turned  for  him  to  put  it  round  her,  and  as  he  began 
to  do  so,  as  he  touched  her  arms  and  shoulders,  his  eyes 
shone  and  his  brown  cheeks  slightly  reddened.  Then  his 
expression  changed;  he  seemed  to  repress,  to  beat  back 
something ;  he  drew  her  down  into  a  chair,  and  quietly  sat 


BELLA  DONNA  121 

down  by  her.  The  Nubian  came  with  coffee,  and  went 
softly  away,  smiling. 

Mrs.  Armine  poured  out  the  coffee,  and  Nigel  lit  his 
cigar. 

*' Turkish  coffee  for  my  lord  and  master!'*  she  said, 
pushing  a  cup  towards  him  over  the  little  table.  **I  think 
I  must  learn  how  to  make  it.'' 

He  was  gazing  at  her  as  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to 
take  it. 

*'Do  you  feel  at  home  here.  Ruby?"  he  asked  her. 

**It's  such  a  very  short  time,  you  dear  enquirer,"  she 
answered.  *' Remember  I  haven't  closed  an  eye  here  yet. 
But  I  'm  sure  I  shall  feel  at  home.    And  what  about  you  ? ' ' 

''I  scarcely  know  what  I  feeL" 

He  sipped  the  coffee  slowly. 

* '  It 's  such  a  tremendous  change, ' '  he  continued.  *  *  And 
I've  been  alone  so  long.  Of  course,  I've  got  lots  of  friends, 
but  still  I've  often  felt  very  lonely,  as  you  have,  Ruby, 
haven't  you?" 

**I've  seldom  felt  anything  else,"  she  replied. 

''But  to-night ?" 

"Oh,  to-night — everything's  different  to-night.  I  won- 
der  " 

She  paused.  She  was  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  with 
her  head  against  a  cushion,  looking  at  him  with  a  slight, 
half-ironical  smile  in  her  eyes  and  at  the  corners  of  her 
lips. 

' '  I  wonder, ' '  she  continued,  ' '  what  Meyer  Isaacson  will 
think." 

''Of  our  marriage?" 

"Yes.    Do  you  suppose  it  wiU  surprise  him?" 

"I— no,  I  hardly  think  it  will.' 

"You  didn't  hint  it  to  him,  did  you?" 

* '  I  said  nothing  about  any  marriage,  but  he  knew  some- 
thing of  my  feeling  for  you. ' ' 

"All  the  same,  I  think  he'll  be  surprised.  When  shall 
we  get  the  first  post  from  England  telling  us  the  opinion 
of  the  dear,  kind,  generous-hearted  world?" 


122  BELLA  DONNA 

**Ruby,  who  cares  what  any  one  thinks  or  says?" 

* '  Men  often  don 't  credit  us  with  it,  but  we  women,  as  a 
rule,  are  horribly  sensitive,  more  sensitive  than  you  can 
imagine.  I — ^how  I  wish  that  some  day  your  people  would 
try  to  like  me ! " 

He  took  one  of  her  hands  in  his. 

**Why  shouldn't  they?  Why  shouldn 't  they ?  But  this 
winter  we'll  keep  to  ourselves,  learn  to  know  each  other, 
learn  to  trust  each  other,  learn  to — ^to  love  each  other  in 
the  very  best  and  finest  way.  Ruby,  I  took  this  villa 
because  I  thought  you  would  like  it,  that  it  would  not  be  so 
bad  as  our  first  home.  But  presently  I  want  you  to  come 
with  me  to  Sennoures.  "When  we've  had  our  fortnight's 
honeymoon  here,  I'll  go  off  for  a  few  nights,  and  look  into 
the  work,  and  arrange  something  for  you.  I'll  get  a  first- 
rate  tent  from  Cairo.  I  want  you  in  camp  with  me.  And 
it's  farther  away  there,  wilder,  less  civilized;  one  gets 
right  down  to  Nature.  When  I  was  in  London,  before  I 
asked  you  to  marry  me,  I  thought  of  you  at  Sennoures. 
My  camp  used  to  be  pitched  near  water,  and  at  night,  when 
the  men  slept  covered  up  in  their  rugs  and  bits  of  sacking, 
and  the  camels  lay  in  a  line,  with  their  faces  towards  the 
men 's  tent,  eating,  I  used  to  come  out.  alone  and  listen  to 
the  frogs  singing.  It's  like  the  note  of  a  flute,  and  they 
keep  it  up  all  night,  the  beggars.  You  shall  come  out 
beside  that  water,  and  you  shall  hear  it  with  me.  It's  odd 
how  a  little  thing  like  that  stirs  up  one's  imagination. 
Why,  even  just  thinking  of  that  flute  of  the  Egyptian  Pan 

in  the  night- "    He  broke  off  with  a  sound  that  was  not 

quite  a  laugh,  but  that  held  laughter  and  something  else. 
** We've  got,  please  God,  a  grand  winter  ahead  of  us, 
Ruby,"  he  finished.    **And  far  away  from  the  world." 

* '  Far — far  away  from  the  world ! ' ' 

She  repeated  his  words  rather  slowly. 

*'I  must  have  some  more  coffee,"  she  add^d,  T^th  a 
change  of  tone. 

**Take  care.    You  mayn't  be  able  to  sleep." 

"Nigel — do  you  want  me  to  sleep  to-night?" 


BELLA  DONNA  123 

He  looked  at  her,  but  he  did  not  answer. 

**Even  if  I  don't  sleep  I  must  have  it.  Besides  I 
always  sit  up  late/* 

"But  to-night  you're  tired." 
*' Never  mind.    I  must  have  the  coffee." 

She  poured  it  out  and  drank  it. 

*'I  believe  you  live  very  much  in  the  present,"  he  said. 

**"Well — you  live  very  much  in  the  future." 

**Do  I?    What  makes  you  think  so?" 

*'My  instinct  informs  me  of  the  fact,  and  of  other  facts 
about  you." 

**You'll  make  me  feel  as  if  I  were  made  of  glass  if  you 
don't  take  care." 

* '  Live  a  little  more  in  the  present.  Live  in  the  present 
to-night." 

There  was  a  sound  of  insistence  in  her  voice,  a  look  of 
insistence  in  her  bright  blue  eyes  which  shone  out  from 
their  painted  shadows,  a  feeling  of  insistence  in  the  thin 
and  warm  white  hand  which  now  she  laid  upon  his.  *  *  Don 't 
worry  about  the  future." 

He  smiled. 

'*I  wasn't  worrying.    I  was  looking  forward." 

*'Why?  We  are  here  to-night,  Nigel,  to  live  as  if  we 
had  only  to-night  to  live.  You  talk  of  Sennoures.  But 
who  knows  whether  we  shall  ever  see  Sennoures,  ever  hear 
the  Egyptian  Pan  by  the  water?  I  don't.  You  don't.  But 
we  do  know  we  are  here  to-night  by  the  Nile." 

With  all  her  force,  but  secretly,  she  was  trying  to  destroy 
in  him  the  spiritual  aspiration  which  was  essential  in  his 
nature,  through  which  she  had  won  him  as  her  husband, 
but  which  now  could  only  irritate  and  confuse  her,  and 
stand  in  the  way  of  her  desires,  keeping  the  path  against 
them. 

*'Yes,"  he  said,  drawing  in  his  breath.  **We  are  here 
to-night  by  the  Nile,  and  we  ^hear  the  boatmen  singing. ' ' 

The  distant  singers  had  been  silent  for  some  minutes; 
now  their  voices  were  heard  again,  and  sounded  nearer  to 
the  garden,  as  if  they  were  on  some  vessel  that  was  drifting 


124  BELLA  DONNA 

down  the  river  under  the  brilliant  stars.  So  much  nearer 
was  the  music  that  Mrs.  Armine  could  hear  a  word  cried  out 
by  a  solo  voice,  "Al-lah!  Al-lah!  Al-lah!"  The  voice 
was  accompanied  by  a  deep  and  monotonous  murmur.  The 
singer  was  beating  a  darahoiikkeh  held  loosely  between  his 
knees.  The  chorus  of  nasal  voices  joined  in  with  the  rough 
and  artless  vehemence  which  had  in  it  something  that  was 
sad,  and  something  that,  though  pitiless,  seemed  at  moments 
to  thrill  with  yearning,  like  the  cruelty  of  the  world,  which 
is  mingled  with  the  eternal  longing  for  the  healing  of  its 
wounds. 

*'We  hear  the  boatmen  singing,'*  he  repeated,  *' about 
Allah,  and  always  Allah,  Allah,  the  God  of  the  Nile,  and 
of  us  two  on  the  Nile.'' 

"Sh— sh!    There's  that  dog  again!    I  do  wish " 

She  had  begun  to  speak  with  an  abrupt  and  almost 
fierce  nervous  irritation,  but  she  recovered  herself  imme- 
diately. 

''Couldn't  the  gardener  keep  him  out?"  she  said, 
quietly. 

''Perhaps  he  belongs  to  the  gardener.  I'll  go  and  see. 
I  won 't  be  a  minute. ' ' 

He  sprang  up  and  followed  the  dog,  which  crept  away 
into  the  garden,  looking  around  with  its  desolate,  yellow 
eyes  to  see  if  danger  were  near  it. 

Allah— Allah— Allah  in  the  night! 

Mrs.  Armine  did  not  know  that  this  song  of  the  boat- 
men of  Nubia  was  presently,  in  later  days  she  did  not 
dream  of,  to  become  almost  an  integral  part  of  her  exist- 
ence on  the  Nile;  but  although  she  did  not  know  this,  she 
listened  to  it  with  an  attention  that  was  strained  and 
almost  painful. 

"Al-lah— Al-lah " 

"And  probably  there  is  no  God,"  she  thought.  "How 
can  there  be?    I  am  sure  there  is  none." 

Abruptly  Meyer  Isaacson  seemed  to  come  before  her  in 
the  darkness  looking  into  her  eyes  as  he  had  looked  in  his 
consulting-room  when  she  had  put  up  her  veil  and  turned 


BELLA  DONNA  125 

her  face  towards  the  light.  She  shut  her  eyes.  Why  should 
she  think  about  him  now?  Why  should  she  call  him  up 
before  her? 

She  heard  a  slight  rustle  near  her,  and  she  started  and 
opened  her  eyes.  By  one  of  the  French  windows  the 
dragoman  Ibrahim  was  standing,  perfectly  still  now,  and 
looking  steadily  at  her.  He  held  a  flower  between  his  teeth, 
and  when  he  saw  that  she  had  seen  him,  he  came  gracefully 
forward,  smiling  and  almost  hanging  his  head,  as  if  in 
half-roguish  deprecation. 

''What  did  you  say  your  name  was?"  Mrs.  Armine 
asked  him. 

He  took  the  flower  from  his  teeth,  handed  it  to  her,  then 
took  her  hand,  kissed  it,  bent  his  forehead  quite  low,  and 
pressed  her  hand  against  it. 

''Ibrahim  Ahmed,  my  lady." 

She  looked  at  his  gold-coloured  robe,  at  his  European 
jacket,  at  the  green  and  gold  fringed  handkerchief  which 
he  had  wound  about  his  tarbush,  and  which  covered  his 
throat  and  fell  down  upon  his  breast. 

"Very  pretty,"  she  said,  approvingly.  "But  I  don't 
like  the  jacket.    It  looks  too  English." 

"It  is  a  present  from  London,  my  lady." 

**Al-lah " 

Always  the  sailors'  song  seemed  growing  louder,  more 
vehement,  more  insistent,  like  a  strange  fanaticism  ever 
increasing  in  the  bosom  of  the  night. 

"Where  are  those  people  singing,  Ibrahim?"  said  Mrs. 
Armine. 

She  put  his  flower  in  the  front  of  her  gown,  opening  her 
cloak  to  do  so. 

"They  seem  to  get  nearer  and  nearer.  Are  they  com- 
ing down  the  river?" 

"I  s'pose  they  are  in  a  felucca,  my  lady.  They  are 
Noobian  peoples.  They  always  make  that  song.  It  is  a 
pretty  song. ' ' 

He  gently  moved  his  head,  following  the  rhythm  of  the 


126  BELLA  DONNA 

music.  Between  the  green  and  gold  folds  of  his  silkea 
handkerchief  his  gentle  brown  eyes  always  regarded  her. 

** Nubian  people!''  she  said.  *'But  Luxor  isn't  in 
Nubia." 

*  *  Noobia  is  up  by  Aswan.  The  obelisks  come  from  there. 
I  will  show  you  the  obelisks  to-morrow,  my  lady.  There  is 
no  dragoman  who  understands  all  'bout  obelisks  like 
Ibrahim. ' ' 

*'I  am  sure  there  isn't.  But" — those  voices  of  the  sing- 
ing sailors  were  beginning  almost  to  obsess  her — "are  all 
the  boatmen  Nubians  then  ? ' ' 

**Nao!"  he  replied,  with  a  sudden  cockney  accent. 

* '  But  these  that  are  singing  ? ' ' 

**I  say  they  are  Noobian  peoples,  my  lady.  They  are 
Mahmoud  Baroudi's  Noobian  peoples." 

"Baroudi's  sailors!"  said  Mrs.  Armine. 

She  sat  up  straight  in  her  chair. 

*'But  Mahmoud  Baroudi  isn't  here,  at  Luxor?'* 

Ibrahim's  soft  eyes  had  become  suddenly  sharp  and 
bright. 

*'Do  you  know  Mahmoud  Baroudi,  my  lady?" 

*'We  met  him  on  the  ship  coming  from  Naples." 

*'Yery  big — big  as  Rameses  the  Second,  the  statue  of 
the  King  hisself  what  you  see  before  you  at  the  Ramesseum 
• — eyes  large  as  mine,  and  hair  over  them  what  goes  like 
that!" 

He  put  up  his  brown  hands  and  suddenly  sketched 
Baroudi's  curiously  shaped  eyebrows. 

Mrs.  Armine  nodded.  Ibrahim  stretched  out  his  arm 
towards  the  Nile. 

*' Those  are  his  Noobian  peoples.  They  come  from  his 
dahabeeyah.  It  is  at  Luxor,  waiting  for  him.  They  have 
nuthin '  to  do,  and  so  they  make  the  fantasia  to-night. ' ' 

* '  He  is  coming  here  to  Luxor  ? ' ' 

Ibrahim  nodded  his  head  calmly. 

**He  is  comin'  here  to  Luxor,  my  lady,  very  nice  man, 
very  good  man.  He  is  as  big  as  Rameses  the  Second,  and 
he  is  as  rich  as  tke  Khedive.  He  has  money — as  much  as 
that." 


BELLA  DONNA  127 

He  threw  out  his  arms,  as  if  trying  to  indicate  the  pro- 
portions of  a  great  world  or  of  an  enormous  ocean. 

''Here  comes  my  gentleman!"  he  added,  suddenly  drop- 
ping his  arms. 

Nigel  returned  from  the  darkness  of  the  garden. 

"  Hulloh,  Ibrahim!" 

"Hulloh,  my  gentleman!" 

"Keeping  your  mistress  company  while  I  was  gone? 
That  is  right." 

Ibrahim  smiled,  and  sauntered  away,  going  towards 
the  bank  of  the  Nile.  His  golden  robe  faded  among  the 
little  trunks  of  the  orange-trees. 

"It  was  the  gardener's  dog,"  said  Nigel,  letting  him- 
self down  into  his  chair  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  I've 
made  him  feed  the  poor  brute.  It  was  nearly  starving. 
That 's  why  it  came  to  us. ' ' 

"I  see." 

"Al-lah!"  he  murmured,  saying  the  word  like  an 
Eastern  man. 

He  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"The  first  word  you  hear  in  the  night  from  Egypt, 
Ruby,  Egypt's  night  greeting  to  you.  I  have  heard  that 
song  up  the  river  in  Nubia  often,  but — oh,  it's  so  different 
now!" 

During  her  long  experience  in  a  life  that  had  been 
complex  and  full  of  changes,  Mrs.  Armine  had  heard  the 
sound  of  love  many  times  in  the  voices  of  men.  But  she 
had  never  heard  till  this  moment  Nigel's  full  sound  of 
love.  There  was  something  in  it  that  she  did  not  know  how 
to  reply  to,  though  she  had  the  instinct  of  the  great  cour- 
tesan to  make  the  full  and  perfect  reply  to  the  desires  of 
the  man  with  whom  she  had  schemed  to  ally  herself.  She 
owed  this  reply  to  him,  but  she  owed  it  how  much  more  to 
something  within  herself!  But  there  existed  within  him  a 
hunger  for  which  she  had  no  food.  Why  did  he  show  this 
hunger  to  her?  Already  its  demonstration  had  tried  her 
temper,  but  to-night,  for  the  first  time,  she  felt  her  whole 
being  set  on  edge  by  it.  Nevertheless,  she  was  determined 
he  should  not  see  this,  and  she  answered  very  quietly: 


128  BELLA  DONNA 

**I  am  hearing  this  song  for  the  first  time  with  you,  so 
I  shall  always  associate  it  with  you.  ^ ' 

He  drew  a  little  nearer  to  her.  And  she  understood  and 
could  reply  to  the  demand  which  prompted  that  movement. 

'*We  must  drink  Nile  water  together,  Euby,  Nile  water 
— in  all  the  different  ways.  I'll  take  you  to  the  tombs  of 
the  Kings,  and  to  the  Colossi  when  the  sun  is  setting.  And 
when  the  moon  comes,  we'll  go  to  Karnak.  I  believe  you'll 
love  it  all  as  I  do.  One  can  never  tell,  of  course,  for 
another.  But — but  do  you  think  you'll  love  it  all  with 
me?" 

Mingled  with  the  ardour  and  the  desire  there  was  a 
hint  in  his  voice  of  anxiety,  of  the  self-doubt  which,  in 
certain  types  of  natures,  is  the  accompaniment  of  love. 

*  *  I  know  I  shall  love  it  all — with  you, ' '  she  said. 

She  let  her  hand  fall  into  his,  and  as  his  hand  closed 
upon  it  she  was  physically  moved.  There  was  in  Nigel 
something  that  attracted  her  physically,  that  attracted  her 
at  certain  moments  very  strongly.  In  the  life  that  was  to 
come  she  must  sweep  away  all  interference  with  that. 

**And  some  day,"  he  said,  "some  day  I  shall  take  yoi 
to  see  night  fall  over  the  Sphinx,  the  most  wonderful  thing 
in  Egypt  and  perhaps  in  the  whole  world.  We  can  do  that 
on  our  way  to  or  from  the  Fayytim  when  we  have  to  pass 
through  Cairo,  as  soon  as  I've  arranged  something  for 
you." 

''You  think  of  everything,  Nigel." 

*'Do  you  like  to  be  thought  for?" 

**No  woman  ever  lived  that  did  not." 

She  softly  pressed  his  hand.  Then  she  lifted  it  and 
held  it  on  her  knee. 

Presently  she  saw  him  look  up  at  the  stars,  and  she  felt 
sure  that  he  was  connecting  her  with  them,  was  thinking 
of  her  as  something  almost  ideal,  or,  if  not  that,  as  some- 
thing that  might  in  time  become  almost  ideal. 

**I  am  not  a  star,"  she  said. 

He  did  not  make  any  answer. 

** Nigel,  never  be  so  absurd  as  to  think  of  me  as  a  star!" 


BELLA  DONNA  l^g 

He  suddenly  looked  around  at  her. 

''What  do  you  say,  Ruby?" 

*' Nothing." 

' '  But  I  heard  you  speak. ' ' 

*'It  must  have  been  the  sailors  singing.  I  was  looking 
up  at  the  stars.    How  wonderful  they  are ! ' ' 

As  she  spoke,  she  moved  very  slightly,  letting  her  cloak 
fall  open  so  that  her  long  throat  was  exposed. 

*  *  And  how  beautifully  warm  it  is ! " 

He  looked  at  her  throat,  and  sighed,  seemed  to  hesitate, 
and  then  bent  suddenly  down  as  if  he  were  going  to  kiss 
it. 

**Al-lah!" 

Almost  fiercely  the  nasal  voice  of  the  singing  boatman 
who  gave  out  the  solo  part  of  the  song  of  the  Nile  came 
over  the  garden  from  the  river,  and  the  throbbing  of  the 
daraboukkeh  sounded  loudly  in  their  ears.  Nigel  lifted 
his  head  without  kissing  her. 

* '  Those  boatmen  are  close  to  the  garden ! "  he  said. 

Mrs.  Armine  wrapped  her  cloak  suddenly  round  her. 

''Would  you  like  to  go  down  to  the  river  and  see  them?" 
he  added. 

''Yes,  let  us  go.    I  must  see  them,"  she  said. 

She  got  up  from  her  chair  with  a  quick  but  graceful 
movement  that  was  full  of  fiery  impetus,  and  her  eyes  were 
shining  almost  fiercely,  as  if  they  gave  a  reply  to  the  fierce 
voices  of  the  boatmen. 

Nigel  drew  her  arm  through  his,  and  they  went  down 
the  little  sandy  path  past  the  motionless  orange-trees  till 
they  came  to  the  bank  of  the  Nile.  Ibrahim  was  standing 
there,  peeping  out  whimsically  from  his  fringed  and  tas- 
selled  wrappings,  and  smoking  a  cigarette. 

"Where  are  the  boatmen,  Ibrahim?"  said  Nigel. 

* '  Here  they  come,  my  gentleman  ! ' ' 

Upon  the  wide  and  moving  darkness  of  the  river,  a 

great  highway  of  the  night  leading  to  far-off  African  lands, 

hugging  the  shore  by  a  tufted  darkness  of  trees,  there  came 

a  felucca  that  gleamed  with  lanterns.    The  oars  sounded  in 

9 


130  BELLA  DONNA 

the  water,  mingling  with  the  voices  of  the  men.  whose  vague, 
uncertain  forms,  some  crouched,  some  standing  up,  some 
leaning  over  the  river,  that  was  dyed  with  streaks  of  light 
into  which  the  shining  drops  fell  back  from  the  lifted 
blades,  were  half  revealed  to  the  watchers  above  them  in 
the  garden. 

' '  Here  come  the  Noobian  peoples ! ' ' 

* '  I  wonder  what  they  are  doing  here, ' '  said  Nigel,  ' '  and 
why  they  come  up  the  river  to-night.  Whose  people  can 
they  heV 

Ibrahim  opened  his  lips  to  explain,  but  Mrs.  Armine 
looked  at  him,  and  he  shut  them  without  a  word. 

*  *  Hush ! ' '  she  whispered.    * '  I  want  to  listen. ' ' 

This  was  like  a  serenade  of  the  East  designed  to  give 
her  a  welcome  to  Egypt,  like  the  voice  of  this  great,  black 
Africa  speaking  to  her  alone  out  of  the  night,  speaking 
with  a  fierce  insistence,  daring  her  not  to  listen  to  it,  not 
to  accept  its  barbaric  summons.  A  sort  of  animal  romance 
was  stirred  within  her,  and  she  began  to  feel  strongly 
excited.  She  heard  no  longer  the  name  of  Allah,  or,  if  she 
heard  it,  she  connected  it  no  longer  with  the  Christian's 
conception  of  a  God,  with  Nigel's  conception  of  a  God,  but 
perhaps  with  strange  idols  in  dusky  temples  where  are 
mingled  crimes  and  worship.  Her  imagination  suddenly 
rose  up,  gathered  its  energies,  and  ran  wild. 

The  boat  stayed  opposite  the  garden. 

**It  must  be  meant  for  me,  it  is  meant  for  me!"  she 
thought. 

At  that  moment  she  knew  quite  certainly  that  this  boat 
had  come  to  the  garden  because  she  lived  in  the  garden, 
that  it  paused  so  that  she  might  be  sure  that  the  music  was 
directed  to  her,  was  meant  for  no  one  but  her.  It  was  not 
for  her  and  Nigel.  Nigel  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  He 
did  not  understand  its  meaning. 

At  last  the  boat  moved  on,  the  flickering  spears  of  light 
on  the  water  travelled  on  and  turned  away,  the  voices 
floated  away  under  the  stars  till  the  night  enfolded  them, 
the  light  and  the  music  were  taken  and  kept  by  the  sleep- 
less mystery  of  Egypt. 


BELLA  DONNA  131 

*  *  Shall  we  go  into  the  villa,  Ruby  ? ' '  said  Nigel,  almost 
diffidently,  yet  with  a  thrill  in  his  voice. 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  then  she  said. 

*  *  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is  time  to  go  to  bed. ' ' 

Nigel  drew  her  arm  again  through  his,  and  they  went 
away  towards  the  house,  while  Ibrahim  looked  after  them, 
smiling. 

XIII 

**RuBY,"  said  Nigel,  a  fortnight  later,  coming  into  his 
wife's  bedroom  after  the  morning  walk  on  the  river  bank 
which  invariably  succeeded  his  plunge  into  the  Nile,  * '  whom 
do  you  think  I  Ve  just  met  in  Luxor  ? ' ' 

He  was  holding  a  packet  of  letters  and  papers  in  his 
hand.    The  post  had  just  arrived. 

Mrs.  Armine,  wrapped  in  a  long  white  gown  which 
did  not  define  her  figure,  with  her  shining  hair  coiled 
loosely  at  the  back  of  her  neck,  was  sitting  before  the  toilet- 
table,  and  looked  round  over  her  shoulder. 

''Some  one  we  both  know,  Nigel?"  she  asked. 

He  nodded. 

*'Not  the  magenta  and  red  together,  then?" 

*'The  Haymans — no,  though  I  believe  they  are  here  at 
the  Winter  Palace." 

* '  God  bless  them ! ' '  she  murmured,  with  a  slight  contrac- 
tion of  her  forehead.    "  Is  it  a  man  or  a  woman  ? ' ' 

^'Aman." 

* '  A  man ! ' '  She  turned  right  round,  with  a  sharp  move- 
ment, holding  the  arms  of  her  chair  tightly.  ''Not  Meyer 
Isaacson  ? ' ' 

"Isaacson!  Good  heavens!  He  never  takes  a  holiday 
except  in  August.  Dear  old  chap!  No,  this  is  some  one 
not   specially  interesting,   but   not  bad;   only   Baroudi." 

Mrs.  Armine 's  hands  dropped  from  the  arms  of  the 
chair,  as  she  turned  towards  the  glass. 

"Baroudi!"  she  said,  as  if  the  name  meant  nothing 
to  her.    "Why  do  you  string  one  up  for  nothing,  Nigel?" 

She  took  up  a  powder-puff. 


132  BELLA  DONNA 

"Do  you  mean  the  man  on  the  Hohenzollern?  Wliat 
has  he  to  do  with  us  ? " 

Nigel  crossed  the  room,  and  sat  down  on  a  chair  by  the 
side  of  the  toilet-table,  facing  his  wife  and  holding  in  his 
lap  the  bundle  of  letters  and  papers. 

"Are  you  disappointed.  Ruby?" 

"No,  because  we  don't  need  any  one.  But  you  roused 
my  expectation,  and  then  played  a  cold  douche  upon  it,  you 
tiresome  person!" 

There  was  a  sort  of  mufifled  crossness  in  her  voice,  but 
as  she  passed  the  powder-puff  over  her  face  her  eyes  and 
her  lips  were  smiling.    Nigel  leaned  his  arm  upon  the  table. 

"Ruby,"  he  said. 

''Well— what  is  it?" 

She  stopped  powdering. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  do—all  that." 

"All  what?" 

"All  those  things  to  your  face.  You  are  beautiful.  I 
wish  you  would  leave  your  face  alone." 

"I  do,  practically.  I  only  try  to  save  it  a  little  from 
the  sun.  You  wouldn't  have  me  look  like  the  wife  of  one 
-of  what  Ibrahim  calls  *  the  fellaheen  peoples, '  w^ould  you  ? '  * 

"I  want  you  to  look  as  natural  and  simple  as  you 
always  are  with  me.  I  don't  mean  that  you  are  simple  in 
mind,  of  course.     I  am  speaking  of  your  manner." 

"My  dear  Nigel,  who  is  affected  nowadays?  But  I 
really  mustn't  look  like  the  fellaheen  peoples.  Ibrahim 
would  be  shocked.'* 

Nevertheless,  she  put  the  powder-puff  dowTi. 

"You  don't  trust  your  own  beauty,  Ruby,"  he  said. 

She  sat  back  and  looked  at  him  very  gravely,  as  if  his 
remark  had  made  a  strong  impression  upon  her.  Then  she 
looked  into  the  mirror,  then  she  looked  again  at  him. 

"You  think  I  should  be  wise  to  trust  it  as  much  as 
that?" 

"Of  course  you  would." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  hers. 

"You  are  blossoming  here  in  Egypt,  but  you  hardly  let 
one  know  it  when  you  put  things  on  your  face." 


BELLA  DONNA  ISS^ 

She  gazed  again  into  the  glass  in  silence. 

*'Any  letters  for  me?"  she  said,  at  last. 

"I  haven't  looked  yet.  I  walked  with  Baroudi  on  the 
bank.  He's  joined  his  dahabeeyah,  and  is  going  up  to 
Armant  to  see  to  his  affairs  in  the  sugar  business  up  there. ' ' 

^'Oh!" 

^'I  believe  he  only  stays  till  to-morrow  or  Wednesday. 
He  invited  me  to  go  over  to  his  boat  and  have  a  look  at  it 
this  afternoon." 

*'Are  you  going?" 

'*I  told  him  I'd  let  him  know.    Shall  I  go?" 

''Don't  you  want  to?" 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  boat,  but — you  see,  he's  half 
an  Oriental,  and  perhaps  he  didn't  think  it  was  the  proper- 
thing  to  do,  but " 

*'He  didn't  invite  me.  Why  should  he?  Go,  Nigel. 
You  want  a  man's  society  sometimes.  You  mustn't  always- 
sit  in  my  pocket.  And  besides,  you're  just  off  to  the 
Fayyum.  I  must  get  accustomed  to  an  occasional  lonely 
hour. ' ' 

He  pressed  his  hand  on  hers. 

* '  I  shall  soon  come  back.  And  soon  you  shall  come  with, 
me  there. ' ' 

^*I  love  this  place,"  she  said.     "Are  there  any  letters 
forme?" 

He  untied  the  string  of  the  packet,  looked  over  the  con- 
tents, and  handed  her  three  or  four. 

"And  now  run  away  and  read  yours,"  she  said.  "When 
you're  in  my  room  I  can  do  nothing.  You  take  up  all  my 
attention.    I'll  come  down  in  a  few  minutes." 

He  gave  her  a  kiss  and  obeyed  her. 

When  he  was  in  the  little  drawing-room,  he  threw  the 
papers  carelessly  on  a  table  without  taking  off  their  wrap- 
pers. He  had  scarcely  looked  at  a  paper  since  he  had  been 
in  Egypt;  he  had  had  other  things  to  do,  things  that  had 
engrossed  him  mind  and  body.  Like  many  men  who  are 
informed  by  a  vital  enthusiasm,  Nigel  sometimes  lived  for 
a  time  in  blinkers,  which  shut  out  from  his  view  completely 
the  world  to  right  and  left  of  him.    He  could  be  an  almost 


134  BELLA  DONNA 

terribly  concentrated  man.  And  since  he  had  been  in 
Egypt  he  had  been  concentrated  on  his  wife,  and  on  his 
own  life  in  relation  to  her.  The  affairs  of  the  nations 
had  not  troubled  him.  He  had  read  his  letters,  and  little 
besides.  Now  he  took  those  which  had  come  that  morning, 
and  went  out  upon  the  terrace  to  run  through  them  in  the 
sunshine. 

Bills,  a  communication  from  his  agent  at  Etchingham, 
a  note  from  his  man  of  affairs  in  Cairo,  and — ^hullo! — a 
letter  from  his  brother,  Harwich! 

That  did  not  promise  him  much  pleasure.  Already  he 
had  received  several  family  letters  scarcely  rejoicing  in  his 
marriage.  They  had  not  bothered  him  as  much  as  he  had 
formerly  feared  they  would.  He  did  not  expect  his  rela- 
tions, or  the  world,  to  look  at  things  wdth  his  eyes,  to  think 
of  Ruby  with  gentleness  or  even  forgiveness  for  her  past. 
He  knew  his  world  too  well  to  make  preposterous  mental 
demands  upon  it.  But  Harwich  had  already  expressed 
himself  with  his  usual  freedom.  There  seemed  no  par- 
ticular reason  why  he  should  w^rite  so  soon  again. 

Nigel  tore  open  the  letter,  read  it  quickly,  re-read  it, 
then  laid  it  down  upon  his  knees,  pulled  his  linen  hat  over 
his  eyes,  and  sat  for  a  long  while  quite  motionless,  thinking. 

His  brother's  letter  informed  him  that  his  sister-in-law, 
Zoe,  Harwich's  wife,  had  given  birth  to  twin  children — 
sons — and  that  they  were  ''stunningly  well — ^hip,  hip, 
hooray ! ' ' 

Harwich's  boisterous  joy  was  very  natural,  and  might 
be  supposed  to  spring  from  paternal  feelings  that  did  him 
honour,  but  there  was  a  note  of  triumph  in  his  exultation 
which  Nigel  understood,  and  "which  made  him  thoughtful 
now.  Harwich  was  glorying  in  the  fact  that  Nigel  and 
Nigel's  wife  were  cut  out  of  the  succession — that,  so  far 
as  one  could  see,  Mrs.  Armine  would  now  never  be  Lady 
Harwich. 

For  himself  Nigel  did  not  care  at  all.  Harwich  was 
ten  years  older  than  he  was,  but  he  had  never  thought 
about  succeeding  him,  had  never  wished  to  succeed  him,  and 
when  he  had  married  Ruby  he  had  known  that  his  sister- 


BELLA  DONNA  135 

in-law  was  going  to  have  a  child.  He  had  known  this,  but 
he  had  not  told  it  to  Ruby.  He  had  not  concealed  it; 
simply,  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  to  tell  her.  Now  the 
tone  of  Harwich's  letter  was  making  him  wonder,  ''Will 
she  mindr* 

Presently  he  heard  her  coming  into  the  room  behind 
him,  crossing  it,  stepping  out  upon  the  terrace. 

''Nigel!     Are  you  asleep?" 

' '  Asleep ! "  he  said.    ' '  At  this  hour ! ' ' 

For  once  there  was  an  unnatural  sound  in  his  voice,  a 
note  of  carelessness  that  was  forced.  He  jumped  up  from 
his  chair,  scattering  his  letters  on  the  ground. 

"You  haven't  read  your  letters  all  this  time!" 

"Not  yet;  not  all  of  them,  at  least,"  he  said,  bending 
to  pick  them  up.  "  I  've  been  reading  one  from  my  brother, 
Harwich." 

"From  Lord  Harwich?"  She  sent  a  sharp  look  to 
him.    "Is  it  bad  news?    Is  Lord  Harwich  ill?" 

"No,  Ruby." 

"Then  what's  the  matter?" 

"The  matter?  Nothing!  On  the  contrary,  it's  a  piece 
of  good  news." 

In  spite  of  himself  almost,  his  eyes  were  staring  at 
her  with  an  expresion  of  scrutiny  that  was  fierce,  because 
of  the  anxiety  within  him. 

"Poor  old  Harwich  has  had  to  wait  so  long,  and  now 
at  last  he's  got  what  he's  wanted." 

"What's  that?" 

"A  child — that  is,  children — twins." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Then  Mrs.  Armine  said, 
with  a  smile: 

"So  that's  it!" 

"Yes,  that's  it,  Ruby." 

"Girls?    Boys?    Girl  and  boy?" 

"Boys,  both  of  them." 

"When  you  write,  congratulate  him  for  me.  And  now 
read  the  rest  of  your  letters.  I'm  going  to  take  a  stroll  in 
the  garden." 

As  she  spoke,  she  put  up  her  parasol  and  sauntered 


AS6  BELLA  DONNA 

away  towards  the  Nile,  stopping  now  and  then  to  look  at  a 
iiower  or  tree,  to  take  a  rose  in  her  hand,  smell  it,  then  let 
it  go  with  a  cai-eless  gesture. 

"Does  she  really  mind?    Damn  it,  does  she  mind?'* 

There  had  been  no  cloud  on  her  face,  no  involuntary 
movement  of  dismay,  yet  in  her  apparently  unruffled  calm 
there  had  been  a  reticence  that  somehow  had  chilled  him. 
She  was  so  clever  in  reading  people  that  surely  she  must 
have  felt  the  anxiety  in  his  heart,  the  eager  desire  to  be 
reassured.  If  she  had  only  responded  to  it  frankly,  if 
she  had  only  come  up  to  him,  touched  his  hand,  said,  ''Dear 
old  boy,  what  does  it  matter?  You  don't  suppose  I've  ever 
bothered  about  being  the  future  Lady  Harwich?" — some- 
thing of  that  kind,  all  his  doubts  would  have  been  swept 
away.  But  she  had  taken  it  too  coolly,  almost,  had  dis- 
missed it  too  abruptly.  Perhaps  that  was  his  fault,  though, 
for  he  had  been  reserved  with  her,  had  not  said  to  her  all 
he  was  thinking,  or  indeed  anything  he  was  thinking. 

*'Ruby!    I  say.  Ruby!" 

Following  a  strong  impulse,  he  hastened  after  her,  and 
came  up  with  her  on  the  bank  of  the  Nile. 

''Look!"  she  said. 

' '  What  ?  Oh,  BaroTi)di  's  dahabeeyah  tied  up  over  there ! 
Yes,  I  knew  that.  It's  to  get  out  of  the  noise  of  Luxor. 
Ruby,  you — you  don't  mind  about  Harwich  and  the  boys?" 

"Mind?"  she  said. 

Her  voice  was  suddenly  almost  angry,  and  an  expression 
that  was  hard  came  into  her  brilliant  eyes. 

"Mind?     What  do  you  mean,  Nigel?'* 

"Well,  you  see  it  makes  a  lot  of  difference  in  my  posi- 
tion from  the  worldly  point  of  view." 

"And  you  think  I  care  about  that !  I  knew  you  did.  I 
knew  exactly  what  you  were  thinking  on  the  terrace!" 

There  was  a  wounded  sound  in  her  voice.  Then  she 
added,  with  a  sort  of  terribly  bitter  quietness: 

"But — what  else  could  you,  or  anyone,  think?" 

"Ruby!"  he  exclaimed. 

He  tried  to  seize  her  hand,  but  she  would  not  let  him. 


BELLA  DONNA  137 

**No,  Nigel!  don't  touch  me  now.  I — I  shall  hate  you 
if  you  touch  me  now/' 

Her  face  was  distorted  with  passion,  and  the  tears  stood 
in  her  eyes. 

* '  I  don 't  blame  you  a  bit, ' '  she  said.  ' '  I  should  be  a  fool 
to  expect  anyone,  even  you,  to  believe  in  me  after  all  that- 
all  that  has  happened.  But — it  is  hard,  sometimes  it  is 
frightfully  hard,  to  bear  all  this  disbelief  that  one  ca» 
have  any  good  in  one." 

She  turned  hurriedly  away. 

*'Ruby!"  he  said,  with  a  passion  of  tenderness. 

**No,  no !  Leave  me  alone  for  a  little.  I  tell  yon  I  must 
be  alone!''  she  exclaimed,  as  he  followed  her. 

He  stopped  on  the  garden  path  and  watched  her  go  iafco 
the  house. 

*' Beast,  brute  that  I  am!"  he  said  to  himself. 

He  clenched  his  hands.  At  that  moment  he  hated  him' 
self;  he  longed  to  strike  himself  down — himself,  and  all 
men  with  himself — to  lay  them  even  with  the  ground — 
cynics,  unbelievers,  agents  destructive  of  all  that  was  good 
and  noble. 

Mrs.  Armine  went  straight  up  to  her  room,  locked  the 
door  against  her  maid,  and  gave  way  to  a  violent  storm 
of  passion,  which  had  been  determined  by  Nigel's  impulse 
to  be  frank,  following  on  his  news  of  Harwich.  With  the 
shrewd  cleverness  that  scarcely  ever  deserted  her,  she  had 
forced  her  temper  into  the  service  of  deception.  Whe» 
she  knew  she  had  lost  her  self-control,  that  she  must  show 
how  indignant  she  was,  she  had  linked  her  anger  to  a 
cause  with  which  it  had  nothing  to  do,  a  cause  that  would 
stir  all  his  tenderness  for  her.  At  the  moment  when  she 
was  hating  him,  she  was  teaching  him  to  love  her,  and 
deliberately  teaching  him.  But  now  that  she  was  alone,  all 
that  was  deliberate  deserted  her,  and,  disregarding  even 
the  effect  grief  and  anger  unrestrained  must  have  upon 
her  appearance,  she  gave  way,  and  gave  way  completely. 

She  did  not  come  down  to  lunch,  but  towards  tea-time 
she  reappeared  in  the  garden,  looking  calm,  but  pathetically 
tired,  with  soft  and  wistful  eyeso 


13»  BELLA  DONNA 

''When  are  you  starting  for  the  dahabeeyah ? "  sh« 
asked,  as  Nigel  came  anxiously,  repentantly  forward  to 
meet  her. 

''I  don't  think  I'll  go  at  alL  I  don't  want  to  go.  I'll 
stay  here  and  have  tea  with  you." 

''No,  you  mustn't  do  that.  I  shall  like  to  have  tea  alone 
to-day." 

She  spoke  very  gently,  but  her  manner,  her  eyes,  and 
every  word  rebuked  him. 

''Then  I'll  go,"  he  said,  "if  you  prefer  it." 

He  looked  down. 

*'Baroudi's  men  have  come  already  to  take  me  over." 

* '  I  heard  them  singing,  up  in  my  bedroom.  Run  along ! 
Don't  keep  him  waiting." 

With  the  final  words  she  seemed  to  make  an  effort,  to 
try  to  assume  the  playful,  half-patronizing  manner  of  a' 
pretty  woman  of  the  world  to  a  man  supposed  to  adore  her ; 
but  she  allowed  her  lips  to  tremble  so  that  he  might  see 
she  was  playing  a  part.  He  did  not  dare  to  say  that  he 
saw,  and  he  went  down  to  the  bank  of  the  Nile,  got  into 
the  felucca  that  was  waiting,  and  was  rowed  out  into  the 
river. 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  Mrs.  Armine  called  Ibrahim  to 
come  and  put  a  chair  and  a  table  for  her  in  the  shadow  of 
the  wall,  close  to  the  stone  promontory  that  was  thrust 
out  into  the  Nile  to  keep  its  current  from  eating  away  the 
earth  embankment  of  the  garden. 

"I  am  going  to  have  tea  here,  Ibrahim,"  she  said.  "Tell 
Hassan  to  bring  it  directly  the  sun  begins  to  set." 

"Yes,  suttinly,"  replied  the  always  young  and  cheer- 
ful.   "And  shall  Ibrahim  come  back  and  stay  with  you?" 

She  shook  her  head,  looking  kindly  at  the  boy,  who  had 
quickly  learnt  to  adore  her,  as  had  all  the  Nubians  in  the 
villa. 

"Not  to-day,  Ibrahim.    To-day  I  want  to  be  alone." 

He  inclined  his  long,  thin  body,  and  answered  gravely: 

"All  what  you  want  you  must  have,  my  lady." 

"Don't  call  me  'my  lady'  to-day  I"  she  exclaimed,  with 
a  sudden  sharpness. 


BELLA  DONNA  ISg 

Ibrahim  looked  amazed  and  hurt. 

** Never  mind,  Ibrahim!'' — she  touched  her  forehead — 
**IVe  got  a  bad  head  to-day,  and  it  makes  me  cross  about 
nothing." 

He  thrust  one  hand  into  his  gold-coloured  skirt,  and 
produced  a  glass  bottle  full  of  some  very  cheap  perfume 
from  Europe. 

*'This  will  cure  you,  my  la —  mees.  Rub  it  on  your 
head.    It  is  a  bootif ul  stink.    It  stinks  lovely  indeed ! ' ' 

She  accepted  it  with  a  grateful  smile,  and  he  went 
pensively  to  order  the  tea;  letting  his  head  droop  towards 
his  left  shoulder,  and  looking  rather  like  a  faithful  dog 
that,  quite  unexpectedly,  is  not  wanted  by  his  mistress. 
Mrs.  Armine  sat  still,  frowning. 

She  could  hear  the  Nubians  of  Baroudi  singing  as 
they  bent  to  their  mighty  oars ;  not  the  song  of  Allah  with 
which  they  had  greeted  her  on  her  arrival,  obedient  per- 
haps to  some  message  sent  from  Alexandria  by  their  mas- 
ter, but  a  low  and  mysterious  chaunt  that  was  almost 
like  a  murmur  from  some  spirit  of  the  Nile,  and  that 
seemed  strangely  expressive  of  a  sadness  of  the  sun,  as  if 
even  in  the  core  of  the  golden  glory  there  lurked  a  canker, 
like  the  canker  of  uncertainty  that  lies  in  the  heart  of  all 
human  joy. 

The  day  was  beginning  to  decline ;  the  boatmen 's  voices 
died  away;  Hassan,  in  obedience  to  Ibrahim's  order, 
brought  out  tea  to  his  mistress  in  the  garden.  When  he  had 
finished  arranging  it,  he  stood  near  her  for  a  moment, 
looking  across  the  water  to  Baroudi 's  big  white  dahabeeyah, 
which  was  tied  up  against  the  bank  a  little  way  down  the 
river.    In  his  eyes  there  were  yellow  lights. 

*'What  are  you  doing,  Hassan?"  asked  Mrs.  Armine. 

The  tall  Nubian  turned  towards  her. 

**Mahmoud  Baroudi  is  rich!"  he  said.  **Mahmoud 
Baroudi  is  rich ! ' ' 

He  looked  again  at  the  dahabeeyah;  then  he  came  to 
the  little  table,  moved  a  plate,  touched  and  smoothed  the 
table-cloth,  and  went  quietly  away. 

Mrs.  Armine  sipped  her  tea  and  looked,  still  frowning, 


140  BELLA  DONNA 

at  the  river,  which  began  to  lose  its  bro^\Ti  colour  slowly, 
to  gleam  at  first  with  pallid  gold,  then  with  a  gold  that 
shone  like  fire.  The  eddies  beyond  the  breakwater  were  a 
light  and  delicate  mauve  and  looked  nervously  alive.  A 
strange  radiance  that  was  both  ethereal  and  voluptuous, 
that  seemed  to  combine  elements  both  spiritual  and  mate- 
rial, was  falling  over  this  world,  clothing  it  in  a  sparkling 
veil  of  beauty.  And  as  the  gold  on  the  river  deepened  in 
hue,  it  spread  swiftly  upon  the  water,  it  travelled  down 
towards  Luxor,  it  crept  from  the  western  bank  to  the 
eastern  bank  of  the  Nile,  from  the  dahabeeyah  of  Baroudi 
almost  to  the  feet  of  Mrs.  Armine. 

.  **Mahmoud  Baroudi  is  rich!  Mahmoud  Baroudi  is 
rich!'* 

Why  had  Hassan  said  that?  What  had  it  to  do  with 
her?  She  looked  across  at  Baroudi 's  great  white  boat, 
which  now  was  turning  into  a  black  jewel  on  the  gold  of 
the  moving  river,  and  she  felt  as  if,  like  some  magician 
who  understood  her  nature,  he  was  trying  to  comfort  her 
to-day  by  showering  gold  towards  her.  It  was  an  absurd 
fancy,  at  which,  in  a  moment,  she  was  smiling  bitterly 
enough. 

She  almost  hated  Nigel  to-day.  When  she  had  left  him 
in  the  garden  before  luncheon,  she  had  quite  hated  him 
for  his  unworldliness,  combined  with  a  sort  of  boyish  sim- 
plicity and  wistfulness.  Of  course  he  had  known,  he  must 
have  known,  that  Zoe  Harwich  was  going  to  have  a  child; 
he  must  have  known  it  when  he  was  shooting  with  his 
brother  in  the  autumn.  And  he  had  never  said  a  word  of 
it  to  her.  And  now  he  was  cut  out  of  the  succession.  He 
might  never  have  succeeded  his  brother;  but  there  had 
been  a  great  chance  that  he  would,  that  some  day  she  would 
be  reigning  as  Lady  Harwich.  That  thought  had  swayed 
her  towards  him,  had  had  very  much  to  do  with  the  part 
she  had  played  in  London  which  had  won  her  Nigel  as  a 
husband.  If  what  was  now  a  fact  had  been  a  fact  a  few 
weeks  ago,  would  she  ever  have  schemed  to  marry  him, 
would  such  an  alliance  have  been  ** worth  her  while''? 


BELLA  DONNA  141 

How  Lady  Hayman  and  all  her  tribe,  a  tribe  which  once 
had  ijetted  and  entertained  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Chepstow, 
had  dubbed  her  ''Bella  Donna,"  how  they  must  be  rejoic- 
ing to-day !  She  could  almost  hear  what  they  were  saying 
as  she  sat  in  the  sunset  by  the  Nile.  ''What  a  mercy  that 
woman  has  overreached  herself!"  "How  furious  she 
must,  be,  now  Harwich  has  got  sons ! "  * '  What  a  delicious 
slap  in  the  face  for  her  after  catching  that  foolish  Nigel 
Armine!"  Hundreds  of  women  were  smiling  over  her 
discomfiture  at  this  moment,  and  probably  also  hundreds 
of  men.  For  no  one  would  give  her  credit  for  having 
married  Nigel  for  himself,  for  having  honestly  fallen  in 
love  with  him  and  acted  "squarely"  towards  him.  And, 
of  course,  she  had  not  fallen  in  love  with  him.  He  was 
not,  indeed,  the  type  of  man  with  whom  a  nature  and  a 
temperament  like  hers  could  fall  in  love.  She  had  liked 
him  before  she  married  him,  he  had  even  had  for  her  a 
certain  physical  attraction;  but  already  that  physical  at- 
traction— really  the  passing  fancy  of  a  capricious  and  a 
too-experienced  woman — had  lost  its  savour,  and  for  a  rea- 
son that,  had  he  known  it,  would  have  cut  Nigel  to  the 
heart. 

She  could  not  bear  his  love  of  an  ideal,  his  instinct  to 
search  for  hidden  good  in  men  and  women,  but  especially 
in  herself,  his  secret  desire  for  moral  progress.  She  knew 
that  these  traits  existed  in  him,  and  therefore  was  able  to 
hate  them ;  but  she  was  incapable  of  really  understanding 
them,  clever  woman  though  she  was.  Her  cleverness  was 
of  that  type  which  comprehends  vice  more  completely  than 
virtue,  and  although  she  could  apprehend  virtue,  as  she 
had  proved  by  her  conduct  in  London  which  had  led  to 
her  capture  of  Nigel,  she  could  never  learn  really  to  under- 
stand its  loveliness,  or  to  bask  happily  in  its  warmth  and 
light.  Morally  she  seemed  to  be  impotent.  And  the  great  gulf 
which  must  for  ever  divide  her  husband  from  her  was  his 
absolute  disbelief  that  any  human  being  can  be  morally 
impotent.  He  must  for  ever  misunderstand  her,  because 
his  power  to  read  character  was  less  acute  than  his  power 


142  BELLA  DONNA 

to  love.  And  she,  in  her  inmost  chamber  of  the  soul, 
though  she  might  play  a  part  to  deceive,  though  she  might 
seldom  be,  however  often  appearing  to  be,  truly  her  natural 
self,  had  the  desire,  active  surely  or  latent  in  the  souls  of 
all  human  creatures,  to  be  understood,  to  be  known  as  she 
actually  was. 

Nigel  had  been  aware  that  Zoe  Harwich  was  going  to 
have  a  child,  and  he  had  never  let  her  know  it. 

She  repeated  that  fact  over  and  over  in  her  mind  as  she 
sat  and  looked  at  the  sunset.  Ever  since  the  morning  she 
had  been  repeating  it  over  and  over.  Even  her  violent  out- 
burst of  temper  had  not  stilled  the  insistent  voice  which 
in  reiteration  never  wearied.  In  the  first  moments  of  her 
bitterness  and  anger,  the  voice  had  added,  "Nigel  shall 
pay  me  for  this. '  *  It  did  not  add  this  now,  perhaps  because 
into  her  fierceness  had  glided  a  weariness.  She  was  paying 
for  her  passion.  Perhaps  Nigel  would  have  to  pay  for 
that  payment  too.  He  was  going  away  to  the  Fayyum  in 
two  or  three  days.  How  she  wished  he  was  going  to-night, 
that  she  need  not  be  with  him  to-night,  need  not  play  the 
good  woman,  or  the  woman  with  developing  goodness  in 
her,  to-night,  now  that  she  was  weary  from  having  been 
angry ! 

The  tea  had  become  almost  black  from  standing.  She 
poured  out  another  cupful,  and  began  to  drink  it  without 
putting  in  milk  or  sugar.  It  tasted  acrid,  astringent,  almost 
fierce,  on  her  palate;  it  lifted  the  weariness  from  her, 
seemed  to  draw  back  curtains  from  a  determined  figure 
which  slipped  out  naked  into  the  light,  the  truth  of  herself 
untired  and  unashamed. 

Nigel  would  have  to  reckon  with  that  some  day. 

The  gold  was  fading  from  the  river  now,  the  water  was 
becoming  like  liquid  silver,  then,  in  a  moment,  like  liquid 
steel.  On  the  dahabeeyah,  which  began  to  look  as  if  it  were 
a  long  way  off  and  were  receding  from  her.  shone  a  red  and 
a  blue  light.  Still  the  vehement  voices  of  the  brown  fel- 
lahin  at  work  by  the  shaduf  rose  unwearied  along  the  Nile. 
During  the  last  days  Mrs.  Armine's  ears  had  grown  accus- 


BELLA  DONNA  143 

tomed  to  these  voices,  so  accustomed  to  them  that  it  was 
already  becoming  difficult  to  her  to  realize  that  but  a  short 
time  ago  she  had  never  heard  them,  never  felt  their  curious 
influence,  their  driving  power,  which,  mingled  with  other 
powers  of  sun  and  air,  flogs  the  souls  of  men  and  women 
into  desire  of  ungentle  joys  and  of  sometimes  cruel  pleas- 
ures. And  now,  with  the  fading  away  of  the  daylight, 
those  powerful,  savage,  and  sad  voices  gained  in  meaning, 
seemed  no  more  to  be  issuing  from  the  throats  of  toiling 
and  sweating  Egyptians,  but  to  be  issuing  from  the  throat 
of  this  land  of  ruins  and  gold,  where  the  green  runs  flush 
with  the  sand,  and  the  lark  sings  in  the  morning,  where 
the  jackal  whines  by  night. 

For  a  long  time  Mrs.  Armine  listened,  sitting  absolutely 
still.  Then  suddenly  she  moved,  got  up,  and  went  swiftly 
towards  the  house.  Nigel  was  coming  back.  Mingling 
with  the  voices  of  the  shaduf  men  she  heard  the  voices 
of  Baroudi's  Nubians. 

When  she  had  reached  the  house,  she  went  up  at  once 
to  her  bedroom,  shut  the  door,  and  stood  by  the  open 
window  that  gave  on  to  a  balcony  which  faced  towards  the 
Nile.  The  voices  of  the  shaduf  men  had  now  suddenly  died 
away.  With  the  rapid  falling  of  night  the  singers'  time  for 
repose  had  come;  they  had  slipped  on  their  purple  gar- 
ments, and  were  walking  to  their  villages.  Those  other 
voices  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  murmuring  deeply,  rather 
than  actually  singing,  their  fatalistic  chaunt  which  set  the 
time  for  the  oars. 

Darkness  came.    The  voices  ceased. 

Mrs.  Armine  leaned  forward,  with  one  hand  on  the 
window-frame.    Her  white  teeth  showed  on  her  lower  lip. 

In  the  garden  she  heard  two  voices  talking,  and  moving 
towards  the  house. 


*' Marie!    Marie  !*' 

Her  maid  came  running. 

**V^ld,  madame?    What  does  madame  want?* 


144  BELLA  DONNA 

'*I  am  going  to  change  my  gown.'' 

** Madame  is  going  to  dress  for  the  evening?" 

**No.    I  don't  dine  for  two  hours.*' 

**Then  madame " 

*' Don't  talk  so  much.  Get  me  out  a  white  gown,  that 
white  linen  gown  I  got  at  Paquin's  and  have  never  worn 
yet.    And  put  me  out " 

She  gave  some  directions  about  stockings  and  shoes,  and 
went  in  to  her  dressing-room,  where  she  stood  before  the 
mirror,  carefully  examining  her  face.  Then  she  took  off 
the  hat  she  was  wearing. 

**Lock  the  bedroom  door  and  the  door  into  monsieur's 
room ! ' '  she  called,  in  a  moment. 

^^Bien,  madame ! ' ' 

'^Mon  Dieu!'*  muttered  the  maid,  as  she  went  to  turn 
the  keys,  *'is  she  going  mad?  "What  has  she?  There  is  no 
one  here,  there  is  no  one  coming,  and  all  this  tohu-hohu!" 

**Get  out  the  white  hat  with  the  white  picoteesl'* 

'*Ah,  mon  Dieul'* 

**Do  you  hear?    The  white " 

**I  hear,  I  hear,  madame!    Oh,  la,  Id,  Id!*' 

''Make  haste!" 

'^Bien,  madame,  tres  hien!'* 

The  girl  ran  for  the  hat,  and  Mrs.  Armine,  who  had 
lighted  all  the  candles,  sat  down  before  the  glass.  She 
remembered  Nigel's  desire  expressed  to  her  that  day  that 
she  would  give  up  *' doing  things"  to  her  face.  "Well,  she 
would  respond  to  it  in  this  way! 

Yery  carefully  and  cleverly  she  began  to  whiten  her 
face,  to  touch  up  her  eyes  and  her  narrow,  definite  eye- 
brows. 

**A11  is  ready,  madame!" 

Marie  was  standing  at  the  dresing-room  door;  she 
started  and  swung  round  on  her  heels  as  there  came  a  knock 
at  the  door  of  the  bedroom,  the  creak  of  the  handle  turning. 

**Be  quiet!" 

Mrs.  Armine  had  caught  her  arm.  The  girl  stood  still, 
staring  and  marvelling,  while  her  mistress  went  noiselessly 


BELLA  DONNA  145 

into  the  bedroom  and  sat  down  on  the  far  side  of  the  bed, 
leaning  backwards  till  her  head  was  near  the  pillows,  which 
she  took  care  not  to  touch. 

''Ruby!     Ruby!" 

' '  What  is  it  ?    Who 's  there  ?    Who 's  there  ? ' ' 

The  voice  that  replied  sounded  both  languid  and  sur- 
prised. 

''I— Nigel!" 

Mrs.  Armine  sat  up. 

*  *  What  is  it,  Nigel  ?    I  'm  lying  down. ' ' 

**0h,  I'm — I'm  sorry  if  I've  disturbed  you,  but — ^you're 
not  ill?" 

**No,  only  resting.    What  is  it,  Nigel?" 

*'I've  brought  Baroudi  over  to  see  you  and  the  villa, 
and  to  dine  with  us  to-night." 

"Oh— very  well." 

**You  don't  mind.  Ruby?" 

The  voice  outside  the  door  was  suddenly  very  low. 

''Go  down  and  entertain  him,  and  I'll  come  almost 
directly." 

The  handle  creaked,  as  he  let  it  go,  but  for  a  moment 
there  was  no  sound  of  retreating  footsteps. 

"Look  here,  Ruby,  if " 

*  *  Go  down !    I  '11  come  directly. ' ' 
Footsteps  went  towards  the  stairs. 

"Get  me  into  my  gown!  Wait — change  my  stockings 
first." 

Marie  knelt  down  quickly  on  the  floor.  As  she  bent 
her  head,  she  was  smiling. 

She  began  to  understand. 


XIV 

When  Mrs.  Armine  came  into  the  little  drawing-room, 
it  was  empty,  but  she  smelt  cigars,  and  heard  the  murmur 
of  voices  outside  near  the  terrace.  The  men  were  evi- 
dently walking  up  and  down  enjoying  the  soft  air  of  the 


146  BELLA  DONNA 

evening.     She  did  not  go  out  immediately,  but  stood  and 
listened  to  the  voices. 

Ah,  they  were  talking  about  the  Fayyum — doubtless 
discussing  some  question  of  sowing,  planting,  of  the  culti- 
vation of  land! 

This  evening  her  face  seemed  to  retain  in  its  skin  an 
effect  of  her  outburst  of  passion,  a  sensation  of  dryness 
and  harshness,  as  if  it  were  unduly  stretched  over  the 
flesh  and  had  lost  its  normal  elasticity.  Just  before  she 
came  out  of  her  bedroom,  Marie,  with  a  sort  of  reluctant 
admiration,  had  exclaimed,  '^Madame  est  exquise  ce  soir!'* 
She  wondered  if  it  were  true,  and  as  the  voices  without 
grew  softer  for  a  moment,  more  distant,  she  went  to  stand 
again  before  a  mirror,  and  to  ask  herself  that  question. 

She  had  chosen  to  put  on  a  walking-dress  instead  of  a 
tea-gown,  because  she  believed  that  in  it  she  would  look 
younger,  her  splendid  figure  being  still  one  of  her 
greatest  advantages.  Yes,  her  figure  was  superb,  and  this 
gown  showed  it  off  superbly.  The  long  quiet  of  her  very 
dull  life  in  London  while  she  had  known  Nigel,  followed 
by  her  comparative  repose  in  the  splendid  climate  of  Egypt, 
had  done  wonders  for  her  appearance.  Certainly  to-night, 
despite  any  ravages  made  by  her  injudicious  yielding  to 
anger,  she  looked  years  younger  than  she  had  looked  in 
Isaacson's  consulting-room.  The  wrinkles  about  her  eyes 
showed  scarcely  at  all,  or — ^not  at  aU.  And  she  was  mar- 
vellously fair. 

Orientals  delight  in  fairness,  and  always  suppose  Occi- 
dentals to  be  years  younger  than  they  really  are,  if  they 
have  succeeded  in  retaining  any  of  the  charms  of  youth. 

Marie  was  not  far  wrong. 

She  turned  to  step  out  upon  the  terrace. 

**Ah,  Mahmoud  Baroudi!"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  lazy 
but  charming  indifference,  as  the  two  men  came  to  meet 
her.  "So  you  have  come  up  the  river  to  look  after — what 
is  it?  your  something — your  sugar?'* 

**My  sugar;  exactly,  madame,*'  he  replied  gravely, 
bowing  over  her  hand.    *  *  I  hope  you  will  forgive  my  intru- 


BELLA  DONNA  147 

sion.  Your  husband  kindly  insisted  on  bringing  me  over — - 
and  in  flannels. ' ' 

His  apology  was  extremely  composed,  but  Nigel  was 
looking  a  little  excited,  a  little  anxious,  was  begging  for- 
giveness with  his  eyes  for  all  the  trouble  of  the  morning. 
She  was  not  going  to  seem  to  give  it  him  yet ;  a  man  on  the 
tenter-hooks  was  a  man  in  the  perfectly  right  place.  So  she 
was  suave,  and  avoided  his  glance  without  seeming  to  avoid 
it.  They  strolled  about  a  little,  talking  lightly  of  nothing 
particular;  then  she  said,  speaking  for  the  first  time 
directly  to  her  husband, 

"Nigel,  don't  you  think  you'd  better  just  go  and  tell 
Hassan  we  shall  be  three  at  dinner,  and  have  a  little  talk 
to  the  cook?  Your  Arabic  will  have  more  effect  upon  the 
servants  than  my  English.  Mahmoud  Baroudi  and  I  will 
sit  on  the  terrace  till  you  come  back. ' ' 

''Right  you  are!"  he  said. 

And  he  went  off  at  once,  leaving  them  together. 

xis  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Mrs.  Armine  sat  down  on  a 
basket  chair.  For  a  moment  she  said  nothing.  In  the 
silence  her  face  changed.  The  almost  lazy  naturalness  and 
simplicity  faded  gradually  out  of  it,  revealing  the  alert 
and  seductive  woman  of  the  world.  Even  her  body  seemed 
to  change,  to  become  more  sensitive,  more  conscious,  under 
the  eyes  of  Baroudi;  and  all  the  woman  in  her,  who  till 
now,  save  for  a  few  subtle  and  fleeting  indications  of  life, 
had  lain  almost  quiescent,  rose  suddenly  and  signalled 
boldly  to  attract  the  attention  of  this  man,  who  sat  down  a 
little  way  from  her,  and  gazed  at  her  in  silence  with  an 
Oriental  directness  and  composure. 

Although  they  had  talked  upon  shipboard,  this  was  the 
first  time  they  had  been  en  tete-a-tete. 

To-night  Mrs.  Armine 's  eyes  told  Baroudi  plainly  that 
she  admired  him,  told  him  more — that  she  wished  him  to 
know  it ;  and  he  accepted  her  admiration,  and  now  made  a 
bold  return.  For  soon  the  change  in  her  was  matched  by 
the  change  in  him.  The  open  resolution  of  his  face,  which 
»n  the  ship  had  often  attracted  Nigel,  was  now  mingled 


148  BELLA  DONNA 

with  a  something  sharp,  as  of  cunning,  with  a  ruthlessness 
she  could  understand  and  appreciate.  As  she  looked  at  him 
in  the  gathering  darkness  of  the  night,  she  realized  that 
housed  within  him,  no  doubt  with  many  companions,  there 
was  certainly  a  brigand,  without  any  fear,  without  much 
pity.    And  she  compared  this  brigand  with  Nigel. 

"How  do  you  find  Egypt,  madame?  Do  you  like  my 
country  ? ' ' 

He  leaned  a  little  forward  as  at  last  he  broke  their 
silence,  and  the  movement,  and  his  present  attitude,  drew 
her  attention  to  the  breadth  of  his  mighty  shoulders  and 
to  the  arresting  poise  of  his  head,  a  poise  that,  had  it  been 
only  a  shade  less  bold,  would  have  been  almost  touchingly 
gallant. 

* '  Have  you  seen  all  the  interesting  things  in  Thebes  and 
Karnak?" 

*'Yes.  WeVe  been  quite  good  tourists.  WeVe  been  to 
the  Colossi,  the  tombs,  the  temples.  We've  dined  by  moon- 
light on  the  top  of  the  Pylon  at  Kamak.  We've  seen 
sunset  from  Deir-al-Bahari. " 

**And  sunrise?" 

"From  nowhere.    I  prefer  to  sleep  in  the  morning." 

"And  do  you  care  about  all  these  things,  tombs,  temples, 
mummies — madame?  Have  you  enjoyed  your  Egyptian 
life?" 

She  paused  before  answering  the  question.  As  a  fact, 
she  had  often  enjoyed  her  expeditions  with  Nigel  in  the 
bright  and  shimmering  gaiety  of  the  exquisite  climate  of 
Luxor;  the  picnic  lunches  out  in  the  open,  or  within  the 
walls  of  some  mighty  ruin;  the  smart  canters  on  the 
straight  brown  paths  between  the  waving  green  prairies  oi 
crops,  above  which  the  larks  sang  and  the  wild  pigeons  flew 
up  to  form  the  only  cloud  in  the  triumph  of  gold  and  of 
blue ;  the  long  climbs  upward  into  the  mountains  along  the 
tiger-coloured  ways,  where  the  sun  had  made  his  empire 
Bince  the  beginning  of  the  world ;  the  descents  when  day 
was  declining,  when  the  fellahin  went  homewards  under 
the  black  velvet  of  the  palm-trees,  and  the  dust  stirred  bv 


BELLA  DONNA  149 

their  brown  and  naked  feet  rose  np  in  spirals  towards  the 
almost  livid  light  of  the  afterglow.  And  she  had  enjoyed 
the  dinner  at  Karnak  in  the  pale  beams  of  a  baby  moon. 
For  she  still  had  the  power  to  enjoy,  and  much  of  the 
physical  energy  of  the  average  Englishwoman,  who  is  at 
home  in  the  open  air  and  quite  at  her  ease  in  the  saddle. 
And  Egypt  was  for  her  a  complete  novelty,  and  a  novelty 
bringing  health,  and  a  feeling  almost  of  youth. 

Nevertheless,  she  paused  before  replying. 

Secretly,  during  all  these  days  she  was  now  considering, 
she  had  been  as  one  who  walks  in  a  triumph.  She  had  been 
exulting  in  the  coup  she  had  made  just  when  her  life  seemed 
turning  to  greyness,  exulting  in  the  blow  she  had  struck 
against  a  society  which  had  despised  her  and  cast  her  out. 
Exultation  had  coloured  her  days.  Now  suddenly,  unex- 
pectedly, she  knew  she  had  been  living  in  a  fool  *s  paradise, 
into  which  Nigel  had  led  her.  And  this  knowledge  fell, 
like  a  great  shadow,  over  all  the  days  in  Egypt  behind  her, 
blotting  out  their  sunshine,  their  gaiety,  their  glow. 

*^ Pretty  well,"  she  said,  at  last.  "Do  you  care  about 
such  things?" 

He  shrugged  his  mighty  shoulders. 

''Madame,  I  am  not  a  tourist.  What  should  I  do  in 
the  temples  among  the  bats,  and  in  the  tombs  where  one 
can  almost  smell  the  dead  people?  You  must  not  come  to 
us  Egyptians  for  all  that.  You  must  go  to  the  old  English 
maidens — is  that  it? — maidens  who  wear  helmets  on  their 
grey  hair  done  so" — he  put  up  his  brown  hands,  and  pre- 
tended to  twist  up  a  tiny  top-knot  at  the  back  of  his  head — 
' '  and  who  stroke  the  heads  of  the  dragomans  sitting  there  at 
their  feet,  what  they  call  their  *tootsicums,'  and  telling 
them  thousands  of  lies.  Or  you  must  go  to  the  thin  anti- 
quaries, with  the  red  noses  and  the  heads  without  any  hair, 
who  dig  for  mummies  while  their  wives — ah,  well  I  must 
not  say  that !  But  we  Egyptians,  we  have  other  things  to 
do  than  to  go  and  stare  at  the  Sphinx.  We  have  always 
seen  it.  We  know  it  is  there,  that  it  is  not  going  to  run 
away.  So  we  prefer  to  enjoy  our  lives  while  we  can,  and 
not  to  trouble  about  it.    Do  you  blame  us?" 


150  BELLA  DONNA 

**No/'  she  said.  *'I  never  blame  any  one  for  enjoying 
Ufe.'' 

There  was  in  his  look  and  manner,  even  in  his  attitude, 
a  something  that  was  almost  like  a  carelessly  veiled  inso- 
lence. In  a  European  she  would  perhaps  have  resented  it. 
In  him  not  only  did  she  not  resent  it,  but  she  was  attracted 
by  it.  For  it  seemed  to  belong  as  of  right  to  his  great 
strength,  his  bold  and  direct  good  looks,  which  sprang  to 
the  eyes,  his  youth,  and  his  Eastern  blood.  Such  a  man 
must  feel  often  insolent,  however  carefully  he  might  hide 
it.  Why  should  he  not  show  some  grains  of  his  truth  to 
her? 

*'Nor  for  any  way  of  enjoying  life,  madame?''  he  said. 

And  he  leaned  still  a  little  more  forward,  put  up  one 
big  hand  to  his  cheek,  let  it  drop  down  to  his  splendid 
throat,  and  kept  the  fingers  inside  his  soft  turn-do^vn  collar 
while  he  looked  into  her  eyes. 

*'I  didn't  say  that.'' 

**  Would  you  care  much  what  way  it  was  if  it  gave  the 
enjoyment?" 

''Would  you?" 

*'I !    Certainly  not.    But — I  am  not  like  Mr.  Armeen.*' 

He  slightly  mispronounced  the  name. 

* '  Mr.  Armine  ? "  she  said.    ' '  What  about  him  ? " 

*' Would  he  not  think  that  some  things  one  might  do  and 
many  things  one  must  not  do  ?  All  the  Englishmen  are  like 
that.  Oh,  dear,  if  one  does  the  thing  they  think  wrong! 
Oh,  dear!    Oh,  Law!" 

He  took  away  his  hand  from  his  throat,  held  it  up,  then 
slapped  it  down  upon  his  knee. 

''My  word!"  he  added,  smiling,  and  always  searching 
her  eyes  vmth  his.  "It  is  worse  than  to  eat  pig  by  daylight 
in  Ramadan  would  seem  to  an  Egyptian." 

"Do  you  dislike  the  English?" 

"What  must  I  say?" 

"Say  the  truth." 

**If  it  is  the  English  ladies,  I  think  them  lovely." 

"And  the  Englishmen?" 


BELLA  DONNA  151 

**0h,  they  are  all — good  fellers.'* 

He  threw  into  the  last  two  words  an  indescribable  sound 
of  half -laughing  contempt. 

* '  They  are  all — good  fellers.    Don 't  you  think  so  ? " 

*'But  what  does  that  meanT' 

''Splendid  chaps,  madanie!" 

He  sat  up  straight,  and  threw  out  his  chest  and 
thumped  it. 

"Beef,  plum  pudding,  fine  fellers,  rulers!'' 

*'You  mustn't  laugh  at  my  countrymen." 

*' Laugh — never!  But — may  I  smile,  just  at  one 
corner  ? ' ' 

He  showed  his  rows  of  little,  straight,  white  teeth,  which 
looked  strong  enough  to  bite  through  a  bar  of  iron. 

''The  Englishman  rules  us  in  Egypt.  He  keeps  saying 
we  are  ruling,  and  he  keeps  on  ruling  us.  And  all  the  time 
he  rules  us,  he  despises  us,  madame.  He  thinks  us  silly 
children.  But  sometimes  we  smile  at  him,  though  of  course 
he  never  smiles  at  us,  for  fear  a  smile  from  him  should 
make  us  think  we  are  not  so  far  below  him.  It  is  very 
wrong  of  us,  but  somehow  Allah  permits  us  to  smile.  And 
then" — again  he  leaned  forward,  and  his  chair  creaked  in 
the  darkness — "there  are  some  Englishwomen  who  like  to 
see  us  smile,  some  who  even  smile  with  us  behind  the 
Englishman's  back." 

He  spoke  calmly,  with  a  certain  subtle  irony,  but  quite 
without  any  hint  of  bitterness,  and  in  speakiag  the  last 
words  he  slightly  lowered  his  voice. 

"Is  it  very  wrong  of  them,  madame?  "What  do  you 
say  ?    Do  you  condemn  them  ? ' ' 

She  did  not  answer,  but  her  mobile,  painted  lips  quiv- 
ered, as  if  she  were  trying  to  repress  a  smile  and  were  not 
quite  succeeding. 

"If  they  smile,  if  they  smile — isn't  that  a  shame, 
madame  ? ' ' 

He  was  smiling  into  her  eyes. 

"It  is  a  great  shame,"  she  said.    "I  despise  deceitful 


152  BELLA  DONNA 

''And  yet  who  does  not  deceive?  Everybody — except 
the  splendid  fellers!" 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed,  while  she  looked  at 
his  magnificent  throat. 

"You  never  talked  like  this  on  the  Hohenzollern/'  she 
said. 

*' Madame,  I  was  never  alone  with  you.  How  could  I 
talk  like  this?  I  should  not  have  been  properly  under- 
stood." 

Not  only  in  his  eyes,  but  also  in  this  assumption  of  a 
certain  comradeship  and  sympathy  from  which  Nigel  and 
Nigel's  kind  were  necessarily  excluded,  there  was  a  definite 
insolence  that  seemed  to  strike  upon  and  challenge  Mrs. 
Armine,  like  a  glove  flung  in  her  face.  Would  she  perhaps 
have  resented  it  even  yesterday?  She  could  not  tell. 
To-night  she  was  ready  to  welcome  it,  for  to-night  she 
almost  hated  Nigel.  But,  apart  from  her  personal  anger, 
Baroudi  made  an  impression  upon  her  that  was  definite  and 
strong.  She  felt,  she  ever  seemed  to  perceive  with  her  eyes, 
the  love  of  brigandage  in  him — and  had  she  not  been  a 
brigand?  There  were  some  ruined  men  who  could  have 
answered  that  question.  And  in  this  man  there  was  a  great 
fund  of  force  and  of  energy.  He  threw  out  an  extra- 
ordinary atmosphere  of  physical  strength,  in  which  seemed 
involved  a  strength  that  was  mental,  like  dancing  motes  in 
a  beam  of  light.  Mrs.  Armine  was  a  resolute  woman,  as 
Meyer  Isaacson  had  at  once  divined.  She  felt  that  here  was 
a  human  being  who  could  be  even  more  resolute  than  her- 
self, more  persistent,  more  unyielding,  and  quite  as  subtle, 
quite  as  cool.  Though  he  was  an  Eastern  man  and  she  was 
a  Western  woman,  how  should  each  not  understand  much 
of  the  other's  character?  And  as  to  him — Orientals  are 
readers  of  brains,  if  not  of  souls. 

She  felt  a  great  sense  of  relief,  as  if  a  balm  were  laid 
at  evening  upon  the  morning's  wound. 

''Ruby!" 

Baroudi  leaned  back  quietly,  looking  calm  and  strong 
and  practical.  And  this  time  Mrs.  Armine  noticed  that 
the  basket  chair  did  not  creak  beneath  his  movement. 


BELLA  DONNA  153 

"  Is  it  all  right  about  the  dinner,  Nigel  ? '  * 

*'I  hope  so,"  he  said.  *'But  Baroudi  mustn't  suppose 
weVe  got  a  chef  like  his/* 

"I'll  leave  you  for  a  little  while/*  she  said,  getting  up. 
** Dinner  at  a  quarter  past  eight.*' 

"Thank  you,  madame.'* 

He  was  standing  up. 

"You  pardon  my  flannels?*' 

"I  like  men  in  flannels,  don't  I,  Nigel?" 

She  spoke  carelessly,  almost  absently,  and  went  slowly 
into  the  house.  Again  she  had  subtly  cast  around  her  a 
gentle  atmosphere  of  rebuke. 

On  the  table  in  the  drawing-room  were  lying,  still  in 
their  wrappers,  the  papers  which  had  come  by  the  morn- 
ing's post.  She  took  one  up,  as  she  passed,  and  carried  it 
upstairs  with  her;  and  when  she  was  in  her  bedroom  she 
opened  it,  and  glanced  quickly  through  the  social  news. 
Ah!  there  was  a  paragraph  about  Lady  Harwich! 

* '  The  birth  of  twin  sons  to  the  Countess  of  Harwich  has 
given  much  satisfaction  in  social  circles,  as  both  Lord  and 
Lady  Harwich  are  universally  popular  and  esteemed.  It  is 
said  that  the  baptism  of  the  infants  will  take  place  in  the 
Chapel  Royal  of  St.  James's  Palace,  and  that  His  Majesty 
the  King  will  be  one  of  the  sponsors.  Until  this  happy 
event,  the  next  heir  to  the  title  and  the  immense  estates  that 
go  with  it  was  the  Honourable  Nigel  Armine,  who  recently 
married  the  well-known  Mrs.  Chepstow,  and  who  is  ten 
years  younger  than  Lord  Harwich.** 

Somehow,  now  that  she  saw  the  fact  stated  in  print, 
Mrs.  Armine  felt  suddenly  more  conscious  both  of  the 
triumph  of  Lady  Harwich  and  of  the  Harwich,  which  was 
the  social,  faction  generally,  and  of  what  seemed  her  own 
defeat.  What  a  comfortable  smile  there  must  be  just  now 
upon  the  lips  of  the  smart  world,  upon  the  lips  of  numbers 
of  women  not  a  bit  better  than  she  was!  Ajid  Nigel  had 
*'let  her  in'*  for  it  all.  Her  lips  tightened  ominously  as 
she  remembered  the  cool  American  eyes  of  Lady  Harwich, 
which  had  often  glanced  at  her  with  the  knowing  contempt 
of  the  lively  but  innocent  woman,  which  stirs  the  devil  in 


154  BELLA  DONNA 

women  who  are  not  innocent,  and  who  are  known  not  to 
be  innocent. 

She  put  down  the  paper;  she  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  From  the  garden  there  rose  to  her  nostrils  the 
delicate  scent  of  some  hidden  flower  that  gave  its  best  gift 
to  the  darkness.  In  the  distance,  to  her  right,  there  was  a 
pattern  of  coloured  fire  relieved  against  the  dimness,  that 
w^as  not  blackness,  of  the  world.  That  was  Baroudi's 
dahabeeyah. 

Women  were  smiling  in  London,  were  rejoicing  in  her 
misfortune.  As  she  looked  at  the  lines  of  lamps,  they 
seemed  to  her  lines  of  satirical  eyes,  then,  presently,  lines 
of  eyes  that  were  watching  her  and  were  reading  the  truth 
of  her  nature. 

She  called  Marie,  and  again  she  changed  her  gown. 

While  she  was  doing  so,  Nigel  came  up  once  more,  tak- 
ing Baroudi  to  a  bedroom,  and  presently  tried  the  door 
between  her  bedroom  and  his. 

** Can't  come  in!''  she  called  out,  lightly. 

* 'You're  not  changing  your  dress?" 

'* I  couldn't  dine  in  linen." 

*'Butweareboth " 

*'Men — and  I'm  a  woman,  and  I  can't  dine  in  linen. 
I  should  feel  like  a  sheet  or  a  pillow-case.  Run  away, 
Nigel!" 

She  heard  him  washing  his  hands,  and  presently  she 
heard  him  go  away.  She  knew  very  well  that  the  lightness 
in  her  voice  had  whipped  him,  and  that  he  was  **  feeling 
badly." 

When  the  small  gong  sounded  for  dinner,  she  went 
downstairs,  dressed  in  a  pale  yellow  gown  with  a  high  bodice 
in  which  a  bunch  of  purple  flowers  was  fastened.  She 
wore  no  jewels  and  no  ornament  in  her  hair. 

As  she  came  into  the  room,  for  a  moment  Nigel  had 
the  impression  that  she  was  a  stranger  coming  in.  Why 
was  that?  His  mind  repeated  the  question,  and  he  gazed 
at  her  with  intensity,  seeking  the  reason  of  his  impression. 
She  was  looking  strangely,  abnormally  fair.    Had  she  again, 


BELLA  DONNA  155 

despite  the  conversation  of  the  morning,  ''done  something" 
to  her  face?  Was  its  whiteness  whiter  than  usual?  Or 
were  her  lips  a  little  redder?  Or — he  did  not  know  what 
she  had  done,  whether,  indeed,  she  had  done  anything — 
but  he  felt  troubled,  ill  at  ease.  He  felt  a  longing  to  be 
alone  with  Ruby,  to  make  her  forgive  him  for  having  hurt 
her  in  the  morning.  He  hated  the  barrier  between  them, 
and  he  felt  that  he  had  created  it  by  his  disbelief  in  her. 
Women  are  always  more  sensitive  than  men,  and  who  is 
more  sensitive  than  the  emerging  Magdalen,  encompassed 
by  disbelief,  by  irony,  by  wonder?  He  felt  that  in  the 
morning  he  had  been  radically  false  to  himself,  that  by  his 
lapse  from  a  high  ideal  of  conduct  he  had  struck  a  heavy 
blow  upon  a  trembling  virtue  which  had  been  gathering  its 
courage  to  venture  forth  into  the  light. 

During  the  dinner,  almost  everything,  every*  look,  tone, 
gesture,  attitude,  that  was  expressive  of  Ruby,  confirmed 
him  in  self-rebuke.  She  was  certainly  changed.  The  rather 
weary  and  wistful  woman  who  had  stayed  alone  in  the 
garden  when  he  went  to  the  dahabeeyah  had  given  place  to 
a  woman  more  resolute,  brilliant,  animated — a  woman  who 
could  hold  her  own,  who  could  be  daring,  almost  defiant, 
\d  a  woman  who  could  pain  him  in  return,  perhaps,  for 
t&e  pain  he  had  inflicted  on  her.  The  dinner  was  quite 
good.  Their  Nubian  cook  had  been  trained  in  a  big  hotel, 
and  Mrs.  Armine  had  nothing  to  apologize  for.  Baroudi 
politely  praised  the  cooking.  Yet  she  felt  that  behind  his 
praise  there  lurked  immeasurable  reservations,  and  she 
remembered  the  time  when  her  chef  was  the  most  famous  in 
London,  a  marvel  who  had  been  bribed  by  a  millionaire 
lover  of  hers  to  leave  the  service  of  a  royalty  to  bring  his 
gift  to  her.  She  mentioned  this  fact  to  Baroudi.  It  was  a 
vulgar  thing  to  do,  and  at  heart  she  was  not  vulgar;  but 
she  was  prompted  by  two  desires.  She  felt  in  her  guest  the 
Oriental's  curious  and  almost  romantic  admiration  of 
riches,  and  wished  to  draw  this  admiration  towards  herself ; 
and  she  wanted  to  inflict  some  more  punishment  on  Nigel. 

''You  seem  to  be  something  of  an  epicure,  Mahmoud 


156  BELLA  DONNA 

Baroudi,'*  she  said.    **I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  Ar« 
mand  Carrier?" 

*  *  The  best  chef  in  Europe,  madame  ?  How  should  I  not 
have  heard  of  him  among  my  friends  of  Paris?" 

*'He  was  in  my  service  for  five  years." 

There  was  a  pause.  Nigel  suddenly  turned  red. 
Baroudi  moved  his  large  eyes  slowly  from  Mrs.  Armine 
to  him,  and  at  length  observed  calmly : 

**I  felicitate  you  both.  You  must  have  had  a  treasure. 
But  why  did  you  let  him  go  ?  " 

He  addressed  the  question  to  Nigel. 

**He  was  not  in  my  service,"  said  Nigel,  with  a  sudden, 
very  English  stiffness  that  was  almost  like  haughtiness. 
'*It  was  long  before  we  were  married." 

*  *  Oh — I  see.  But  what  a  pity !  Then  you  did  not  have 
the  benefit  of  eating  his  marvellous  plats." 

**No.     I  don't  care  about  that  sort  of  thing." 

''Really!" 

They  talked  of  other  matters,  but  Nigel  had  lost  all  his 
ho7ihomie,  and  seemed  unable  to  recover  it. 

Baroudi,  like  a  good  Mohammedan,  declined  to  drink 
any  wine,  but  when  the  fruit  was  brought,  Mrs.  Armine 
got  up. 

''I'll  leave  you  for  a  little  while,"  she  said.  "You'll 
find  me  on  the  terrace.  Although  ]\Iahraoud  Baroudi  drinks 
nothing,  I  am  sure  he  likes  men's  talk  better  than  woman's 
chatter. ' ' 

Baroudi  politely  but  rather  perfunctorily  denied  this. 

"But  what  do  you  say,"  he  added,  "to  coming  as  my 
guest  to  take  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  liqueur  at  the  Winter 
Palace  Hotel?  To-night  there  is  the  first  performance  of 
a  Hungarian  band  which  I  introduced  last  winter  to  Egypt, 
and  which — I  am  told ;  I  am  not,  perhaps,  a  judge  of  your 
Western  music — plays  remarkably.  What  do  you  sayt 
Would  it  please  you,  madame?" 

"Yes,  do  let  us  go.    Shan't  we  go?" 

She  turned  to  Nigel. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  "if  you  like.  But  can  you  walk 
in  that  dress?" 


BELLA  DONNA  157 

She  nodded. 

''It's  perfectly  dry  outside.  I'll  come  down  in  a 
moment. ' ' 

She  was  away  for  nearly  ten;  then  she  returned, 
wrapped  up  in  a  marvellous  ermine  coat,  and  wearing  on 
her  head  a  yellow  toque  with  a  high  aigrette  at  one  side. 

*'T'm  read}^  now,"  she  said. 

''What  a  beautiful  coat!"  Nigel  said. 

He  had  not  seen  it  before.  He  gently  smoothed  it  with 
his  brown  fingers.  Then  he  looked  at  her,  took  them  away, 
and  stepped  back  rather  abruptly. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  great  hotel  the  band  was 
already  playing  in  the  hall,  and  a  number  of  people,  scat- 
tered about  in  little  detached  groups,  were  listening  to 
it  and  drinking  Turkish  coffee.  It  was  very  early  in  the 
season.  The  rush  up  the  Nile  had  not  begun,  and  travellers 
had  not  yet  cemented  their  travelling  acquaintanceships. 
People  looked  at  each  other  rather  vaguely,  or  definitely 
ignored  each  other,  with  profiles  and  backs  which  said 
quite  plainly:  ''We  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  you 
until  we  know  more  about  you."  The  entrance  of  the 
party  from  the  Villa  Androud  created  a  strong  diversion. 
As  soon  as  Baroudi  was  perceived  by  the  attendants, 
there  was  a  soft  and  gliding  movement  to  serve  him.  The 
tall  Nubians  in  white  and  scarlet  smiled,  salaamed,  and 
showed  their  pleasure  and  their  desire  for  his  notice.  The 
German  hall  porter  hastened  forward,  with  a  pink  smile 
upon  his  countenance;  the  chef  d^orchestre,  a  real  Hun- 
garian, began  to  play  at  him  with  fervour;  and  a  black 
gentleman  in  gold  and  scarlet,  who  looked  like  a  Prince  of 
the  East,  but  who  was  really  earning  his  living  in  con- 
nection with  the  lift  to  the  first  floor,  bounded  to  show 
them  to  a  table. 

Baroudi  accepted  all  these  attentions  with  a  magnificent 
indifference  that  had  in  it  nothing  of  assumption.  They 
sat  do^vn,  he  ordered  coffee  and  liqueurs,  and  they  listened 
to  the  music,  which  was  genuinely  good,  and  had  the 
peculiar  fervent  and  yet  melancholy  flavour  which  music 


158  BELLA  DONNA 

receives  from  the  bows  of  Hungarian  fiddlers.  Nigel  was 
smoking.  He  seemed  profoundly  attentive,  did  not  at- 
tempt any  conversation,  and  kept  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 
Mrs.  Armine  seemed  listening  attentively',  too,  but  she  had 
not  been  sitting  for  five  minutes  before  she  had  seen  and 
summed  up  every  group  in  her  neighborhood ;  had  defined 
the  nationalities,  criticized  the  gowns  and  faces  of  the 
women,  and  made  up  her  mind  as  to  the  characters  of  the 
men  who  accompanied  them,  and  as  to  the  family  or 
amorous  ties  uniting  them  to  each  other  and  the  men. 

And  she  had  done  more  than  this :  she  had  measured  the 
amount  of  interest,  of  curiosity,  of  admiration,  of  envy,  of 
condemnation  which  she  herself  excited  with  the  almost 
unerring  scales  of  the  clever  woman  who  has  lived  for  years 
both  in  the  great  and  the  half  worlds. 

Quite  near  them,  not  level  with  their  table,  but  a  little 
behind  it  on  the  right,  within  easy  range  of  her  eyes,  Lord 
and  Lady  Hayman  were  sitting,  with  another  English 
couple,  a  Sir  John  and  Lady  Murchison,  smart,  gambling, 
racing,  pleasure-loving  people,  who  seemed  to  be  every- 
where at  the  same  time,  and  never  to  miss  any  function  of 
importance  where  their  *'set"'  put  in  an  appearance. 
Lady  Murchison  was  a  pretty  and  vindictive  blonde — the 
sort  of  woman  who  looks  as  if  she  would  bite  you  if  you 
did  not  let  her  have  her  way.  She  was  smiling  cruelly 
now,  and  murmuring  to  Lady  Hayman,  a  naturally  large, 
but  powerfully  compressed  personage,  with  a  too-sanguine 
complexion  insufficiently  corrected  by  powder,  and  a  too- 
autocratic  temperament  insufficiently  corrected  by  Lord 
Hayman. 

All  these  people — Mrs.  Armine  knew  it  *'in  her  bones'* 
— had  just  been  reading  the  Morning  Post.  Here  in  Egypt 
they  stood  for  ''London.*'  She  saw  London's  verdict, 
*' Serve  her  right,"  in  their  cool  smiles,  their  moments  of 
direct  attention  to  herself — an  attention  hard,  insolent, 
frigid  as  steel — in  the  curious  glances  of  pity  combined 
with  a  sort  of  animal,  almost  school-boy,  amusement,  which 
the  two  men  sent  towards  Nigel. 


BELLA  DONNA  159 

She  looked  from  *' London'*  to  *' Egypt,*'  represented 
by  Baroudi.  In  marrjdng  Nigel  she  had  longed  to  set 
her  heel  upon  the  London  which  had  despised  her;  she 
had  hoped  some  day  to  set  the  heel  of  Lady  Harwich  upon 
more  than  one  woman  whom  she  had  known  before  she  was 
east  out.  Secretly  she  had  reckoned  upon  that,  as  upon 
something  that  was  certain,  something  for  which  she  had 
only  to  wait.  Lord  Harwich  was  worn  out,  and  he  was  a 
wildly  reckless  man,  always  having  accidents,  always 
breaking  his  bones.    She  would  only  have  to  wait. 

And  now — ^twin  boys,  and  all  London  smiling ! 

Again  she  looked  at  Baroudi.  The  fervent  and  melan- 
choly music  was  rising  towards  a  climax.  It  caught  hold  of 
her  now,  had  her  in  a  grip,  swept  her  onwards.  When  it 
ceased,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been  carried  away  from 
*' London,"  and  from  those  old  ambitions  and  hopes  for 
ever. 

Baroudi 's  great  eyes  were  upon  her,  and  seemed  to  read 
her  thoughts;  and  now  for  the  first  time  she  felt  uneasy 
under  their  resolute  gaze,  felt  the  desire,  almost  the  necessity 
to  escape  from  it  and  to  be  unwatched. 

'*Have  you  had  enough  of  the  music,  Nigel?"  she  said 
to  her  husband,  as  the  musicians  lifted  their  chins  from 
their  instruments,  and  let  their  arms  drop  down. 

He  started. 

'*What,  Ruby?    By  Jove,  they  do  play  well!" 

There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  almost  as  of  one  coming 
back  from  a  long  and  dark  journey  underground  into  the 
light  of  day.  That  music  had  taken  him  back  to  the  side 
of  the  girl  whom  he  had  loved,  and  who  had  died  so  long 
ago.  Now  he  looked  at  the  woman  who  was  living,  and  to 
whom  the  great  power  to  love  which  was  within  him  was 
being  directed,  on  whom  it  was  being  concentrated. 

*'Do  you  mind  if  we  go  home?"  she  said. 

'*You  have  had  enough  of  it  already?" 

**No,  not  that;  but — I'm  tired,"  she  said. 

As  she  spoke,  skilfully,  without  appearing  to  do  so,  she 
led  him  to  look  towards  the  little  group  of  the  Murchisons 


160  BELLA  DONNA 

and  the  Haymans;  led  him  to  pity  her  for  their  observa- 
tion, and  to  take  that  as  the  cause  of  her  wish  to  go.  Per- 
haps it  was  partly  the  cause,  but  not  wholly,  and  not  as 
she  made  him  believe  it. 

**I'll  take  you  home  at  once,''  Nigel  said,  tenderly. 

When  they"  were  outside  Baroudi  bade  them  good-bj^e, 
and  invited  them  to  tea  on  the  Loulia — so  his  dahabeeyah 
was  called — on  the  following  day. 

**In  the  evening  I  may  start  for  Armant,"  he  said. 
**"Will  it  bore  you  to  come,  madame?" 

He  spoke  politely,  but  rather  perfunctorily,  and  she 
answered  with  much  the  same  tone. 

"Thanks,  I  shall  be  delighted.  Good-night.  The  music 
was  delicious." 

His  tall  figure  went  away  in  the  dark. 

"When  he  had  left  them  there  was  a  silence.  Nigel  made 
a  movement  as  if  he  were  going  to  take  her  hand,  and  draw 
her  arm  within  the  circle  of  his ;  but  he  did  not  do  it,  and 
they  walked  on  side  by  side  by  the  river,  not  touching  each 
other,  not  speaking.  And  so,  presently,  they  came  to  the 
villa,  and  to  the  terrace  before  the  drawing-room.  Then 
Nigel  spoke  at  last. 

*  *  Are — ^you  are  going  in  at  once,  Ruby  ? "  he  said. 

'^Yes.'' 

**I — ^will  you  call  from  your  window  presently?*' 

''Why?'* 

**When  I  may  come  up.  After  this  morning  I  must 
talk  to  you  before  we  sleep.*' 

She  looked  at  him,  then  looked  down,  resting  her  white 
chin  on  the  warm  white  fur  of  the  ermine. 

"I'll  call,"  she  said. 

As  she  went  away  he  looked  after  her,  and  thought 
how  almost  strangely  tall  she  looked  in  the  long  white  coat. 
He  paced  up  and  down  as  he  waited,  listening  for  the 
sound  of  her  voice.  After  what  seemed  to  him  a  very  long 
time  he  heard  it  at  last. 

"Nigel!    You  can  come  up  now — if  you  like." 

He  went  upstairs  at  once  to  her  room,  and  found  her 


BELLA  DONNA  l6l 

sitting  in  an  arm-chair  near  the  window,  which  led  on  to 
the  balcony,  and  which  was  wide  open  to  the  night.  She 
was  in  a  loose  and,  to  him,  a  mysterious  white  and  flowing 
garment,  with  sleeves  that  fell  away  from  her  arms  like 
wings.    Her  hair  was  coiled  low  at  the  back  of  her  neck. 

The  room  was  lit  by  two  candles,  which  burned  upon  a 
small  writing-table,  and  by  the  wan  and  delicate  moonlight 
that  seemed  to  creep  in  stealthily,  yet  obstinately,  from 
the  silently-breathing  Egypt  in  whose  warm  breast  they 
were.  He  stood  for  a  moment ;  then  he  sat  down  on  a  little 
sofa,  not  close  to  her,  but  near  her. 

*'Euby,"  he  said. 

*'Well,  Nigel?" 

**This  has  been  the  first  unhappy  day  for  me  since  weVe 
been  married." 

''Unhappy!" 

**Yes,  because  of  the  cloud  between  us." 

She  said  nothing,  and  he  resumed: 

**It's  made  me  know  something,  though.  Ruby;  it's 
made  me  know  how  much  I  care — for  you." 

He  leaned  forward,  and,  as  he  did  so,  her  mind  went  to 
Baroudi,  and  she  remembered  exactly  the  look  of  his  shoul- 
ders and  of  his  throat  when  he  was  leaning  towards  her. 

'*I  don't  think  I  really  knew  it  before.  I'm  sure  I 
didn't  know  it.  What  made  me  understand  it  was  the  way 
I  felt  when  I  found  I  had  hurt  you,  had  done  you  a  wrong 
for  a  moment.  Ruby,  my  own  feeling  has  punished  me  so 
much  that  I  don't  think  you  can  want  to  punish  me  any 
more. ' ' 

**I  punish  you!"  she  said.  "But  what  wrong  have  you 
done  me  ?    And  how  could  I  punish  you  ? ' ' 

'*I  did  you  a  wrong  this  morning  by  thinking  for  a 

moment "    He  stopped;  he  found  he  could  not  put  it 

quite  clearly  into  words.  ''Over  Harwich  and  the  boys," 
he  concluded. 

' '  Oh,  that !    That  didn  't  matter ! "  she  said. 
'I^m      She  spoke  coldly,  but  she  was  feeling  more  excited, 

I 


162  BELLA  DONNA 

more  emotional,  than  she  had  felt  for  a  very  long  time, 
than  she  had  known  that  she  could  feel. 

''It  mattered  very  much.  But  I  don't  think  I  really 
thought  it." 

' '  Yes,  you  did ! ' '  she  said,  sharply. 

He  sat  straight  up,  like  a  man  very  much  startled. 

''You  did  think  it.    Don't  try  to  get  out  of  it,  Nigel.'' 

"Ruby,  I'm  not  trying.     Why,  haven't  I  said " 

But  she  interrupted  him. 

"You  did  think,  what  every  one  thinks,  that  I'm  a 
greedy,  soulless  woman,  and  that  I  even  married  you" — 
she  laid  a  fierce  emphasis  on  the  pronoun — "out  of  the 
wretched,  pettifogging  ambition  some  day  to  be  Lady  Har- 
wich.   You  did  think  it,  Nigel.    You  did  think  it ! " 

"For  one  moment,"  he  said. 

He  got  up  from  the  sofa,  and  stood  by  the  window.  He 
felt  like  a  man  in  a  moral  crisis,  and  that  what  he  said  at 
this  moment,  and  how  he  said  it,  with  how  much  deep  sin- 
cerity and  how  much  warmth  of  heart,  might,  even  must, 
determine  the  trend  of  the  future. 

"For  one  moment  I  did  just  wonder  whether  perhaps 
when  you  married  me  you  had  thought  I  might  some  day 
be  Lord  Harwich. ' ' 

"Of  course." 

*'Al-lah " 

Through  the  open  window  came  faintly  the  nasal  cry  of 
the  Nubian  sailor  beginning  the  song  of  the  Nile  upon  the 
lower  deck  of  the  Loulia.  With  it  there  entered  the  very 
dim  throbbing  of  the  beaten  darahoukkeh,  sounding  almost 
like  some  strange  and  perpetual  ground-swell  of  the  night, 
that  flood  of  shadowy  mystery  and  beauty  in  which  they 
and  the  world  were  drowned.  The  distant  music  added 
to  her  sense  of  excitement  and  to  his. 

"Ruby — try  to  see — I  think  it  was  partly  a  humble 
feeling  that  made  me  wonder — a  difficulty  in  believing  you 
had  cared  very  much  for  me." 

' '  Why  should  you,  or  any  one,  think  I  have  it  in  me  to 
eare?" 


BELLA  DONNA  16S- 

**I  thought  so  in  London,  I  think  so  here,  I  have  always 
thought  so — always.  If  others  have — have  disbelieved  in 
you  ever,  I  haven't  been  like  them.    You  doubt  it?" 

He  moved  a  step  forward,  and  stood  looking  down  on 
her. 

''But  I  could  prove  it.'* 

*'0h— how?" 

*' Meyer  Isaacson  knows  it." 

He  did  not  refer  to  his  marrying  her  as  a  proof  already 
given,  for  that  might  have  meant  something  else  than  belief 
in  the  hidden  unworldliness  of  her,  and  in  her  hidden 
desire  for  that  which  was  good  and  beautiful. 

''And  don't  you — don't  you  know  it,  even  after  this 
morning?" 

"After  this  morning — I  don't  want  to  hurt  you — but 
after  this  morning  you  will  have  to  prove  it  to  me,  thor* 
oughly  prove  it,  or  else  I  shall  not  believe  it." 

The  solo  voice  of  the  Nubian  sailor  was  lost  in  the 
chorus  of  voices  which  came  floating  over  the  Nile. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  cold,"  she  continued,  "and  I  don't 
want  to  be  unkind,  but  one  can't  help  certain  things.  I 
have  been  driven,  forced,  into  scepticism  about  men.  I 
don 't  want  to  go  back  into  my  life,  I  don 't  want  to  trot  out 
the  old  'more  sinned  against  than  sinning'  cliche.  I  don't 
mean  to  play  the  winey-piney  woman.  I  never  have  done 
that,  and  I  believe  I've  got  a  little  grit  in  me  to  prevent 
me  ever  doing  it.  But  such  a  thing  as  happened  this  morn- 
ing must  breed  doubts  and  suspicions  in  a  woman  who 
has  had  the  experience  I  have  had.  I  might  very  easily  tell 
you  a  lie,  Nigel.  I  might  very  easily  fall  into  your  arms 
and  say  I've  forgotten  all  about  it,  and  I'll  never  think  of 
it  again,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  It  would  be  the 
simplest  thing  in  the  world  for  me  to  act  a  part  to  you. 
But  you've  been  good  to  me  when  I  was  lonely,  and  you've- 
cared  for  me  enough  to  marry  me,  and — well,  I  won't.  I'll 
tell  you  the  truth.  It 's  this :  I  can 't  help  knowing  you  did 
doubt  me,  and  I'm  not  really  a  bit  surprised,  and  I  don't 
know  that  I'd  any  right  to  be  hurt ;  but  whether  I  had  anjr 


164  BELLA  DONNA 

right  or  not,  I  was  hurt,  and  it  will  take  a  little  time  to 
make  me  feel  quite  safe  with  you — quite  safe — as  one  can 
'>nly  feel  when  the  little  bit  of  sincerity  in  one  is  believed 
in  and  trusted. ' ' 

She  spoke  quietly,  but  he  felt  excitement  behind  her 
apparent  calm.  In  her  voice  there  was  an  inflexible  sound, 
that  seemed  to  tell  him  very  clearly  it  meant  what  it  was 
saying. 

Always  across  the  Nile  came  the  song  of  the  Nubian 
sailors. 

*'I'm  not  surprised  that  you  feel  like  that,"  he  said. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  considering,  then  he  sat  down 
once  more,  and  began  to  speak  with  a  resolution  that  seemed 
to  be  prompted  by  passion. 

**Ruby,  to-day  I  think  I  was  false  to  myself,  because 
to-day  I  was  false  to  my  real,  my  deep-down  belief  in  you. 
In  London  I  did  think  you  cared  for  me  as  a  man,  not 
perhaps  specially  because  I'd  attracted  you  by  my  per- 
sonality, but  because  I  felt  how  others  misunderstood  you. 
It  seemed  to  me — it  seems  to  me  now — ^that  I  could  answer 
to  a  desire  in  you  to  which  no  one  else  ever  tried,  ever 
wished  to  answer.  The  others  seemed  to  think  you  only 
wanted  the  things  that  don't  really  count — lots  of  money, 
luxury,  jewels,  clothes — you  know  what  I  mean.  I  felt 
that  your  real  desire  was — well,  I  must  put  it  plainly — to 
be  loved  and  not  lusted  after,  to  be  asked  for  something, 
not  only  to  be  given  things.  I  felt  that,  I  seemed  to  know 
it.    Wasn't  I  right?" 

*' To-night — I  don't  know,'*  she  said. 

Her  ears  were  full  of  the  music  that  wailed  and  throbbed 
in  the  breast  of  the  night. 

*^ Can't  you  forgive  that  one  going  back  on  myself  after 
all  these  days  and — and  nights  together?  Haven't  I  proved 
anything  to  you  in  them?" 

' '  You  have  seemed  to,  perhaps.  But  men  so  often  seem, 
and  aren't.  And  I  did  think  you  knew  why  I  had  married 
you." 

•'Tell  me  why  you  married  me." 


BELLA  DONNA  165 

** Not  to-night.'' 

*'Long  ago,"  he  said,  and  now  he  spoke  slowly,  and 
with  a  deep  earnestness  which  suddenly  caught  the  whole 
of  her  attention,  *'Long  ago  I  loved  a  girl,  Ruby.  She  waa 
very  young,  knew  very  little  of  the  world,  and  nothing  at 
all  of  its  beastlinesses.  I  think  I  loved  her  partly  because 
she  knew  so  little,  she  was  so  very  pure.  One  could  see — • 
see  in  her  eyes  that  they  had  never  looked,  even  from  a 
distance,  on  mud,  on  anything  black.  She  loved  me.  She 
died.    And,  after  that,  she  became  my  ideal.*' 

He  looked  at  her,  slowly  lifting  his  head  a  little.  There 
was  a  light  in  his  eyes  which  for  a  moment  half  frightened, 
half  fascinated  her,  so  nakedly  genuine  was  it — genuine  as 
a  flame  which  burns  straight  in  an  absolutely  windless 
place. 

' '  In  my  thoughts  I  always  kept  her  apart  from  all  other 
women — always — for  years  and  years,  until  one  night  in 
London,  after  I  knew  you.  That  night — I  don 't  know  how 
it  was,  or  why — I  seemed  to  see  her  and  you  standing 
together,  looking  at  each  other;  I  seemed  to  know  that  in 
you  both — I  don't  know  how  to  tell  it  exactly" — he 
stopped,  looked  down,  like  one  thinking  deeply,  like  one 
absorbed  in  thought — ''that  in  you  both,  mixed  with  quan- 
tities of  different  things,  there  was  one  thing — a  beautiful 
thing — that  was  the  same.  She — she  seemed  that  night 
to  tell  me  that  you  had  something  I  had  loved  in  her,  that 
it  was  covered  up  out  of  sight,  that  you  were  afraid  to 
show  it,  that  nobody  believed  you  had  it  within  you.  She 
seemed  to  tell  me  that  I  might  teach  you  to  trust  me  and 
show  it  to  me.  That  night  I  think  I  began  to  love  you.  I 
didn't  know  I  should  ever  tell  this  to  any  one,  even  to 
you.  Do  you  think  I  could  tell  it  if  I  distrusted  you  as 
much  as  you  seem  to  think?" 

''Give  me  a  glass  of  Apollinaris,  will  you,  Nigel?"  she 
said.    "It's  over  there  beside  the  bed." 

"Apollinaris!" 

He  stared  at  her  as  if  confused  by  this  sudden  diversion. 

'"Over  there  I" 


166  BELLA  DONNA 

She  pointed.  The  long  sleeve,  like  a  wing,  fell  away 
^rom  her  soft,  white  arm. 

•'Oh— ail  right/' 

He  went  to  get  it.  She  sat  still,  looking  out  through 
the  open  window  to  the  moonlight  that  lay  on  the  white 
stone  of  the  balcony  floor.  She  heard  the  chink  of  glass, 
the  thin  gurgle  of  liquid  falling.  Then  he  came  back  and 
stood  beside  her. 

''Here  it  is,  Ruby.*' 

The  enthusiasm  had  gone  out  of  his  voice,  and  the 
curious  light  had  gone  out  of  his  eyes. 

''Thank  you.'' 

She  took  it,  put  it  to  her  lips,  and  drank.  Then  she  set 
the  glass  down  on  the  writing-table. 

"We're  at  the  beginning  of  things,  Nigel,"  she  said. 
"That's  the  truth.  We  can't  jump  into  a  mutual  perfec- 
tion of  relationship  at  once.  I've  got  very  few  illusions, 
and  I  dare  say  I  'm  absurdly  sensitive  about  certain  matters, 
much  more  sensitive  than  even  you  can  imagine.  The  fact 
is  I've — I've  been  trodden  on  for  a  long  while.  A  man 
can 't  know  what  a  woman — a  lady — who 's  been  thoroughly 
*in  it'  feels  when  she's  put  outside,  and  kept  outside,  and — 
trodden  on.  It  sends  her  running  to  throw  her  arms  round 
the  neck  of  the  Devil.  That  may  be  abominable,  but  it's 
the  fact.  And,  when  she  tries  to  come  back  from  the 
Devil — well,  she's  a  mass  of  nerves,  and  ready  to  start  at 
a  shadow.    I  saw  a  shadow  to-day  in  the  garden " 

"I  know,  I  know!" 

"You  remember  the  night  we  dined  on  the  Pylon  at 
Karnak?  After  dinner  you  tried  to  show  me  the  ruins  by 
moonlight,  and  wherever  we  went  a  black-robed  watchman 
followed  us,  or  a  black-robed  watchman  glided  from  behind 
a  pillar,  or  an  obelisk,  or  a  crumbling  wall,  and  faced  us, 
and  at  last  we  took  to  flight.  Well,  that's  what  life  is  like 
to  certain  women:  that's  what  life  has  been  for  a  long 
time  to  me.  Whenever  I've  tried  to  look  at  anything  beau- 
tiful quietly,  I've  been  followed  or  faced  by  a  black-robed 
watchman,  staring  at  me  suspiciously.     And  to-day  you 


BELLA  DONNA  167 

seemed  to  be  one  when  you  asked  me  that  about  Harwich. ' ' 

She  took  up  the  glass  and  drank  some  more  of  the  water. 
When  she  put  it  down  he  was  kneeling  beside  her.  He  put 
his  arms  around  her. 

**I  won't  be  that  again.'* 

A  very  faint  perfume  from  her  hair  came  to  him,  now 
that  he  was  so  close  to  her. 

**I  don't  want  to  be  that  ever." 

He  held  her,  and,  while  he  held  her,  he  listened  to  the 
Nubian  sailors  and  to  the  word  that  was  nearly  always 
upon  their  tireless  lips. 

' '  Al-lah— Al-lah— Al-lah ! ' ' 

God  was  there  in  the  night,  by  the  great,  mysterious 
Nile,  that  flows  from  such  far-off  sources  in  the  wild  places 
of  the  earth ;  God  was  attending  to  them — ^to  him  and  Ruby. 
He  had  the  simple  faith  almost  of  a  child  in  a  God  who 
knew  each  thing  that  he  thought,  each  thing  that  he  did. 
Thousands  of  men  have  this  faith,  and  thousands  of  men 
conceal  it  as  they  might  conceal  a  sin.  They  fear  their 
own  simplicity. 

The  purpose  of  God,  was  it  not  very  plain  before  him' 
He  thought  now  that  it  was.  What  he  had  to  do  was  to 
restore  this  woman's  confidence  in  the  goodness  that  exists 
by  having  a  firm  faith  in  the  goodness  existing  in  her,  by 
not  letting  that  faith  be  shaken,  as  he  had  let  it  be  shaken 
that  day. 

He  hated  himself  for  having  wounded  her,  and  as  he 
hated  himself  his  strong  arms  closed  more  firmly  round  her, 
trying  to  communicate  physically  to  her  the  resolution  he 
was  forming. 

And  the  Nubian  sailors  went  on  singing. 

To  him  that  night  they  sang  of  God. 

To  her  they  sang  of  Mahmoud  Baroudi. 


168  BELLA  DONNA 


XV 


**"What  is  the  meaning  of  that  Arabic  writing,  Mah- 
moud  Baroudi  ? ' '  said  Mrs.  Armine  on  the  following  after- 
noon, as  she  stood  with  him  and  her  husband  upon  the 
lower  deck  of  the  Loulia,  at  the  foot  of  the  two  steps  which 
led  down  to  the  big  door  dividing  the  lines  of  living-rooms 
from  the  quarters  of  the  Nubian  sailors.  The  door  was 
white,  with  mouldings  of  gold,  and  the  inscription  above 
it  was  in  golden  characters. 

"It  looks  so  significant  that  I  must  know  what  it 
means,*'  she  added. 

*'It  is  taken  from  the  Koran,  madame." 

**And  it  means?" 

He  fixed  his  great  eyes  upon  her. 

*'  'The  fate  of  every  man  have  we  bound  about  his 
neck.'  " 

**  'The  fate  of  every  man  have  we  bound  about  his 
neck,'  "  she  repeated,  slowly.  **So  that  is  the  motto  for 
the  Loulia!'^ 

She  was  standing  quite  still,  staring  up  at  the  cabalistic 
signs  beneath  which  she  was  going  to  pass. 

**Do  you  dislike  it,  madame?" 

*'No,  it's  strong,  but — well,  it  leaves  no  loophole  for 
escape,  and  it  rather  suggests  a  prison." 

"We  are  in  the  prison  of  our  lives,  and  we  are  in  the 
prison  of  ourselves,"  he  answered,  calmly. 

She  dropped  her  eyes  from  the  words. 

"Yes?"  she  said,  looking  at  him  like  one  who  asks  for 
more. 

"Prison!"  said  Nigel,  behind  her.  "I  hate  that  word. 
You're  wrong,  Baroudi.  Life  is  a  fine  freedom,  if  we 
choose  it  to  be  so,  and  we  can  act  in  it  according  to  our 
own  free-will.  Our  fate  is  not  bound  about  our  necks.  It 
is  only  we  ourselves  who  can  bind  it  there. ' ' 

"All  that  is  not  at  all  in  my  belief,"  returned  Baroudi, 
inflexibly.    "Here  are  cabins  for  servants. 


»» 


BELLA  DONNA  169 

He  led  them  into  a  passage,  and  pointed  to  little  doors 
on  the  right  and  left. 

* '  And  here  is  my  room  for  working  and  arranging  all  I 
have  to  do.    I  believe  you  English  call  it  a  '  den. '  ' ' 

He  opened  a  door  that  faced  them  at  the  end  of  the 
passage,  and  preceded  them  into  his  *'den.''  The  effect 
of  this  chamber  was  that  it  was  a  *' double  room,''  for  an 
exquisite  screen  of  mashrebeeyeh  work,  in  the  centre  of 
which  was  a  small  round  arch,  divided  it  into  two  compart- 
ments. On  each  side  of  this  arch,  facing  the  entrance  door, 
were  divans  covered  with  embroideries  and  heaped  with 
enormous  cushions.  Prayer-rugs  covered  the  floor,  prayer- 
rugs  of  very  varied  patterns  and  colours,  on  which  yellows, 
greens,  mauves,  pinks,  reds,  purples,  and  browns  dwelt  in 
perfect  accord ;  on  which  vases  were  seen  with  trees,  lamps 
with  flowers,  strange  and  conventional  buildings  with 
ships,  with  chains,  with  pedestals,  with  baskets  of  fruit, 
mingled  together,  apparently  at  haphazard,  yet  forming  a 
blend  that  was  restful.  By  the  windows  there  were  lattices 
of  mashrebeeyeh  work,  which  could  be  opened  and  closed 
at  will.  At  present  they  were  open.  Beneath  them  were 
fitted  book-cases  containing  rows  of  books,  in  English  and 
French,  many  of  them  works  on  agriculture,  on  building,  on 
mining,  on  the  sugar  and  cotton  industries  in  various  parts 
of  the  world.  There  was  a  large  writing-table  of  lacquer- 
work,  on  which  stood  a  movable  electric  lamp  without  a 
shade,  in  the  midst  of  a  rummage  of  pamphlets  and  papers. 
Near  it  were  a  coffee-table  and  two  deep  arm-chairs.  From 
the  ceiling,  which  was  divided  into  compartments  painted 
in  dark  red  and  blue,  hung  a  heavy  lamp  by  a  chain  of 
gilded  silver.  A  stick  of  incense  burned  in  a  gilded  holder. 
The  dining-room,  on  the  other  side  of  the  screen,  was  fitted 
with  divans  running  round  the  walls,  and  contained  a 
large  table  and  a  number  of  chairs  with  curved  backs.  The 
table  was  covered  with  a  long  and  exquisitely  embroidered 
Indian  cloth,  of  which  the  prevailing  colour  was  a  brilliant 
orange-red,  that  glowed  and  had  a  sheen  which  was  almost 
fiery.     In  the  centre  of  this  table  stood  a  tawdry  Japanese 


170  BELLA  DONNA 

vase,  worth,  perhaps,  five  or  six  shillings.  A  lovely  bracket 
of  carved  wood  fixed  to  the  wall  held  a  cheap  cuckoo-cloeli 
from  Switzerland. 

Mrs.  Armine  looked  around  in  silence,  with  eyes  that 
missed  no  detail.  The  clock  whirred,  a  minute  door  flew 
open,  the  cuckoo  appeared,  and  the  two  notes  that  are  the 
cry  of  the  English  spring  went  thinly  out  to  the  Nile. 
Then  the  cuckoo  disappeared,  and  the  little  door  shut 
sharply. 

Mrs.  Armine  smiled. 

''You  bought  that?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  madame.  Everything  here  was  bought  by  me, 
and  arranged  according  to  my  poor  judgment. '  * 

He  opened  the  door,  and  led  them  into  a  long  passage 
with  a  shining  parquetted  floor. 

''Here  are  the  bedrooms,  madame." 

He  pushed  back  two  or  three  doors,  showing  beautiful 
little  cabins,  evidently  furnished  from  Paris,  with  bed- 
steads, mosquito-curtains,  long  mirrors,  small  arm-chairs 
in  white,  and  green  and  rose-colour;  walls  painted  ivory- 
white;  and  delicate,  pretty,  but  rather  frivolous,  curtains 
and  portieres,  with  patterns  of  flowers  tied  up  with  ribands, 
and  flying  and  perching  birds.  All  the  toilet  arrangements 
were  perfect,  and  each  room  had  a  recess  in  which  was  a 
large  enamelled  bath. 

"That  is  my  bedroom,  madame,"  said  Baroudi,  pointing 
to  a  door  which  he  did  not  open.  "It  is  the  largest  on  the 
boat.  And  here  is  my  room  for  sitting  alone.  When  I 
want  to  be  disturbed  by  no  one,  when  I  want  to  smoke  the 
keef,  to  eat  the  hashish,  or  just  to  sit  by  myself  and  forget 
my  affairs,  and  dream  quietly  for  a  little,  I  shut  myself  in 
here." 

An  embroidered  curtain,  the  ground  of  which  was 
orange  colour,  covered  with  silks  of  various  hues,  faced 
them  at  the  end  of  the  corridor.  Baroudi  pulled  aside  this 
curtain,  pushed  back  a  sliding  door  of  wood  that  was 
almost  black,  and  said: 

'  Will  you  go  in  first,  madame?" 


BELLA  DONNA  171 

Mrs.  Armine  stepped  in,  wtih  an  almost  cautious 
slowness. 

She  found  herself  in  a  large  saloon,  which  took  in  the 
whole  width  of  the  stern  of  the  dahabeeyah.  The  end  of 
this  saloon  widened  out  and  was  crescent-shaped,  and  con- 
tained a  low  dais  with  curving  divans,  divided  by  two  slid- 
ing doors  which  were  now  pushed  back  in  their  recesses, 
giving  access  to  a  big  balcony  that  looked  out  over  the  Nile 
and  that  was  protected  by  an  awning.  The  wooden  ceiling 
was  cut  up  into  lozenges  of  black  and  gold,  and  was  edged 
by  minute  inscriptions  from  the  Koran,  in  gold  on  a  black 
ground.  All  the  windows  had  lattices  of  mashrebeeyeh 
work  fitted  to  them,  and  all  these  lattices  w^ere  closed. 
Against  the  walls,  which  were  as  dark  in  colour  as  the 
mashrebeeyeh  work,  there  were  a  number  of  carved  brack- 
ets, on  which  were  placed  various  extremely  common 
things — cheap  and  gaudy  vases  from  Naples  and  Paris,  two 
more  Swiss  cuckoo-clocks,  a  third  clock  with  a  blue  and 
white  china  face — and  a  back  that  looked  as  if  were  made 
of  brass,  a  musical-box,  and  a  grotesque  monster,  like  a 
dragon  with  a  dog's  head,  in  rough  yellow  and  blue  earth- 
enware. There  were  no  chairs  in  the  room,  though  there 
were  some  made  of  basket-work  on  the  balcony,  but  all  the 
lower  part  of  the  wall  space  was  filled  with  broad  divans. 
In  the  centre  of  the  floor  there  was  a  sunken  receptacle  of 
marble,  containing  earth,  in  which  dwarf  palms  were  grow- 
ing, and  a  faskeeyeh,  or  little  fountain,  which  threw  up  a 
minute  jet  of  water,  upon  which  airily  rose  and  fell  a 
gilded  ball  about  the  size  of  a  pea.  All  over  the  floor  were 
strewn  exquisite  rugs.  The  room  was  pervaded  by  a  faint 
but  heavy  perfume,  which  had  upon  the  senses  an  almost 
narcotic  effect. 

* '  What  a  strange  room ! ' '  said  Mrs.  Armine. 

She  had  stood  quite  still  near  the  door.  Now  she  walked 
forward,  followed  by  the  two  men,  until  she  had  passed  the 
faskeeyeh  and  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  dais.  There 
she  turned  round,  with  her  back  to  the  light  that  came  in 
through   the   narrow   doorways   leading   to   the   balcony. 


172  BELLA  DONNA 

Baroudi  had  shut  the  door  by  which  they  had  come  in,  and 
had  pulled  over  it  a  heavy  orange-coloured  curtain,  which 
she  now  saw  for  the  first  time.  Although  lovely  in  itself 
both  in  colour  and  material,  fiercely  lovely,  like  the  skin  of 
some  savage  beast,  it  did  not  blend  with  the  rest  of  the 
room,  with  the  dim  hues  of  the  superb  embroideries  and 
prayer-rugs,  with  the  dark  wood  of  the  lattices  that  covered 
the  windows.  Like  the  cheap  clocks  on  the  exquisite  brack- 
ets, and  the  vulgar  ornaments  from  Naples  and  Paris,  it 
seemed  to  reveal  a  certain  childishness  in  this  man,  a  bad 
taste  that  was  naive  in  its  crudity,  but  daring  in  its  deter- 
mination to  be  gratified.  Oddly,  almost  violently,  this 
curtain,  these  clocks  and  vases,  the  musical-box,  even  the 
tiny  gilded  ball  that  rose  and  fell  in  the  fountain,  dis- 
played a  part  of  him  strangely  different  from  that  which 
had  selected  the  almost  miraculously  beautiful  rugs,  and 
the  embroideries  on  the  divans.  Exquisite  taste  was  mar- 
ried with  a  commonness  that  was  glaring. 

Mrs.  Armine  w^ished  she  could  see  his  bedroom. 

*'I  wish — '^  she  began,  and  stopped. 

*'Yes,  madame?'*  said  Baroudi. 

*'What  is  it,  Ruby?''  asked  Nigel. 

'^You'll  laugh  at  me.  But  I  wish  you  would  both  go  out 
upon  the  balcony,  shut  the  doors,  and  leave  me  for  a  minute 
shut  up  alone  in  here.  I  think  I  should  feel  as  if  I  were 
in  the  heart  of  an  Eastern  house." 

"In  a  harim,  do  you  mean?"  asked  Nigel. 

''That— perhaps.    Do  go." 

Baroudi  smiled,  showing  his  rows  of  tiny  teeth. 

*'Come,  Mr.  Armeen!"  he  said. 

He  stepped  out  on  to  the  balcony,  followed  by  Nigel, 
and  pulled  out  from  the  recess  the  first  of  the  sliding  doors. 

*'You  really  wish  the  other,  too?"  he  asked,  looking  in 
upon  Mrs.  Armine.    **You  will  be  quite  in  the  dark." 

''Shut  it!"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

He  pulled  out  the  second  door.  Gently  it  slid  across  the 
oblong  of  sunlight,  blotting  out  the  figures  of  the  two  men 
from  her  sight.    Baroudi  had  said  that  she  would  be  quite 


BELLA  DONNA  173 

in  the  dark.  That  was  not  absolutely  true.  How  and  from 
where  she  could  not  determine,  a  very  faint  suggestion — it 
was  hardly  more  than  that — of  light  stole  in  to  show  the 
darkness  to  her.  She  went  to  the  divan  on  the  starboard 
side  of  the  vessel,  felt  for  some  cushions,  piled  them 
together,  and  lay  down,  carefully,  so  as  not  to  disarrange 
her  hat.  The  divan  was  soft  and  yielding.  It  held  and 
caressed  her  body,  almost  as  if  it  were  an  affectionate  living 
thing  that  knew  of  her  present  desire.  The  cushions  sup- 
ported her  arm  as  she  lay  sidewayte — listening,  and  keep- 
ing perfectly  still. 

She  had  some  imagination,  although  she  was  not  a 
highly  or  a  very  sensitively  imaginative  woman,  and  now 
she  left  her  imagination  at  play.  It  took  her  with  it  into 
the  heart  of  an  Eastern  house  which  was  possessed  by  an 
Eastern  master.  Where  was  the  house,  in  what  strange 
land  of  sunshine?  She  did  not  know  or  care  to  know. 
And  indeed,  it  mattered  little  to  her — an  Eastern  woman 
whose  life  was  usually  bounded  by  a  grille. 

For  she  imagined  herself  an  Eastern  woman,  subject  to 
the  laws  and  the  immutable  customs  of  the  unchanging 
East,  and  she  was  in  the  harim  of  a  rich  Oriental,  to  whom 
she  belonged  body  and  soul,  and  who  adored  her,  but  as 
the  man  of  the  East  adores  the  woman  who  is  both  his 
mistress  and  his  slave.  For  years  she  had  ruled  men,  and 
trodden  them  under  her  feet.  She  had  lived  for  that— 
the  ruling  of  men  by  her  beauty  and  her  clever  determina- 
tion. Now  she  imagined  herself  no  longer  possessing  but 
entirely  possessed ;  no  longer  commanding,  but  utterly  obe- 
dient. What  a  new  experience  that  would  be!  All  the 
capricious  womanhood  of  her  seemed  to  be  alert  and 
tingling  at  the  mere  thought  of  it.  Instead  of  having 
slaves,  to  be  herself  a  slave ! 

She  moved  a  little  on  the  divan.  The  heavy  perfume 
that  pervaded  the  room  seemed  to  be  creeping  about  her 
with  an  intention — ^to  bring  her  under  its  influence.  She 
heard  the  very  faint  and  liquid  murmur  of  the  f askeeyeh, 
where  the  tiny  gilded  ball  was  rising,  poising,  sinking. 


174  BELLA  DONNA 

governed  by  the  aspiring  and  subsiding  water.  That,  too, 
was  a  slave — a  slave  in  the  Eastern  house  of  Baroudi. 

Slowly  she  closed  her  eyes,  in  the  Eastern  house  of 
Baroudi. 

Here  Baroudi  lay,  as  she  was  lying,  and  smoked  the 
keef,  and  ate  the  hashish,  and  dreamed. 

He  would  never  be  the  slave  of  a  woman.  She  felt 
sure  of  that.  But  he  might  make  a  woman  his  slave.  At 
moments,  when  he  looked  at  her,  he  had  the  eyes  of  a  slave* 
owner.  But  he  might  adore  a  slave  with  a  cruel  adoration. 
She  felt  cruelty  in  him,  and  it  attracted  her,  it  lured  her, 
it  responded  to  something  in  her  nature  which  understood 
and  respected  cruelty,  and  which  secretly  despised  gentle- 
ness. In  his  love  he  would  be  cruel.  Never  would  he  be 
quite  at  the  feet  of  the  woman.  His  eyes  had  told  her 
that,  had  told  it  to  her  with  insolence. 

The  gilded  ball  in  the  faskeeyeh,  the  slave  covered  with 
jewels  in  the  harim. 

She  stretched  out  her  arms  along  the  cushions;  she 
stretched  out  her  limbs  along  the  divan,  her  long  limbs 
that  were  still  graceful  and  supple. 

How  old  did  Baroudi  think  her  ? 

Arabs  never  know  their  ages.  A  man,  a  soldier  whom 
she  had  known,  had  told  her  that  once,  had  told  her  that 
Arabs  of  sixty  declare  themselves  to  be  twenty-five,  not 
from  vanity,  but  merely  because  they  never  reckon  the 
years.  Baroudi  would  probably  never  think  of  her  as 
Englishmen  thought  of  her,  would  never  "bother  about'* 
her  age.  She  had  seen  no  criticism  of  that  kind  in  his  eyes 
when  they  stared  at  her.  Probably  he  believed  her  to  be 
quite  young,  if  he  thought  of  her  age  at  all.  More  prob- 
ably he  did  not  think  about  the  matter. 

She  was  in  the  Eastern  house  of  Baroudi. 

When  she  and  Nigel  had  left  London  for  Egypt  she 
had  imagined  herself  one  day,  if  not  governing  London — 
the  *  *  London '  *  that  had  once  almost  worshipped  her  beauty 
— at  least  spurning  it  as  Lady  Harwich.  She  had  wTapped 
herself  in  that  desire,  that  dream.  All  her  thoughts  had 
been  connected  with  London,  with  people  there.    Some  day 


BELLA  DONNA  175 

Lord  Harwich  would  die  or  get  himself  killed.  Zoe  Har- 
wich would  sink  reluctantly  into  *'Zoe,  Lady  Harwich/' 
and  she,  once  the  notorious  Mrs.  Chepstow,  would  be  mis- 
tress of  Harwich  House,  Park  Lane;  of  Illington  Park, 
near  Ascot;  of  Goldney  Chase  in  Derbyshire;  of  Thirlton 
Castle  in  Scotland;  and  of  innumerable  shooting-lodges, 
to  say  nothing  of  houses  at  Brighton  and  Newmarket. 
Society  might  not  receive  her,  but  society  would  have  to 
?jiyy  her.  And  perhaps — in  the  end — for  are  not  all 
things  possible  in  the  social  world  of  to-day? — perhaps  in 
the  end  she  would  impose  herself,  she  would  be  accepted 
again  because  of  her  great  position.  She  had  felt  that  her 
cleverness  and  her  force  of  will  made  even  that  possible. 
Harwich's  letter  had  swept  the  dream  away,  and  now,  the 
5rst  shock  of  her  new  knowledge  passed,  though  not  the 
anger,  the  almost  burning  sense  of  wrong  that  had  followed 
immediately  upon  it,  she  was  characteristically  readjusting 
her  point  of  view  upon  her  future.  She  had  schemed  for 
a  certain  thing ;  she  had  taken  the  first  great  step  towards 
the  realization  of  her  scheme;  and  then  she  had  suddenly 
come  upon  catastrophe.  And  now  her  thoughts  began  to 
turn  away  from  London.  The  London  thoughts  were  dying 
with  the  London  hopes.  ** All  that  is  useless  now."  That 
was  what  her  mind  was  saying,  bitterly,  but  also  with 
decision.  Schooled  by  a  life  filled  with  varying  experiences, 
Mrs.  Armine  had  learnt  one  lesson  very  thoroughly — she 
had  learnt  to  cut  her  losses.  How  was  she  going  to  cut  this 
loss? 

She  was  in  the  Eastern  house  of  Baroudi. 

Only  a  few  hours  ago  she  had  looked  out  upon  Egypt 
and  things  Egyptian  almost  as  a  traveller  looks  upon  a 
world  through  which  he  is  rushing  in  a  train,  a  world  pre- 
sented to  him  for  a  brief  moment,  but  with  whose  inhab- 
itants he  will  never  have  anything  to  do,  in  whose  life  he 
will  never  take  part.  She  had  to  be  in  Egypt  for  a  while, 
but  all  her  desires  and  hopes  and  intentions  were  centred 
in  London.  There  her  destiny  would  be  played  out,  there 
and  in  the  land  of  which  London  was  the  beating  heart. 

Now  she  must  centre  her  desires,  her  hopes,  her  inten- 


176  BELLA  DONNA 

tions  elsewhere,  if  she  centred  them  anywhere.  She  must 
centre  them  upon  Nigel,  must  centre  them  in  the  FayyQm, 
in  the  making  of  crops  to  grow  where  only  sand  had  been, 
both  in  the  Fayytlm  and  in  another  place,  or  she  must  cen- 
tre them 

She  smelt  the  heavy  perfume;  she  smoothed  the  silken 
pillows  with  her  long  fingers;  she  stretched  her  body  on 
the  soft  divan;  she  listened  to  the  liquid  whisper  of  the 
faskeeyeh. 

There  were  many  sorts  of  lives  in  the  world.  She  had 
had  many  experiences,  but  how  many  experiences  she  had 
never  had !  No  longer  did  she  feel  herself  to  be  a  traveller 
rushing  onward  through  a  land  of  which  she  would  never 
know,  or  care  to  know,  anything.  The  train  was  slackening 
speed.  She  saw  the  land  more  clearly.  Details  came  into 
view,  making  their  strange  and  ardent  appeal.  The  train 
would  presently  stop.  And  she  would  step  out  of  it,  would 
face  the  new  surroundings,  would  face  the  novel  life. 

Suddenly  she  distended  her  nostrils  to  inhale  the  per* 
fume  more  strongly,  her  hands  closed  upon  the  silken 
cushions  with  a  grip  that  was  almost  angry,  and  something 
within  her,  the  something  that  tries  to  command  from  its 
secret  place,  scourged  her  imagination  to  force  it  to  more 
violent  efforts — in  the  Eastern  house  of  Baroudi. 

*'Ruby!    Ruby!" 

One  of  the  sliding  doors  was  pushed  back,  the  sunlight 
came  in,  tempered  by  the  shade  thrown  by  the  awning,  and 
she  saw  the  little  ball  dancing  in  the  faskeeyeh,  and  her 
husband  looking  inquiringly  upon  her,  framed  in  the 
oblong  of  the  doorway. 

''What  on  earth  are  you  doing?*' 

* '  Nothing !  * '  she  said,  sitting  up  with  a  brusque  move- 
ment. 

He  laughed. 

'*I  believe  you  were  taking  a  nap." 

She  got  up. 

**To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  almost  asleep." 

She  stood  up,  put  her  hands  to  her  hat,  to  her  hair,  and 


BELLA  DONNA  177 

with  a  slight  but  very  intelligent  movement  sent  the  skirt 
of  her  gown  into  place. 

"Let  me  out,'*  she  said. 

Nigel  drew  back,  and  she  stepped  out  upon  the  balcony, 
where  Baroudi  was  leaning  upon  the  railing,  looking  over 
the  sunlit  Nile.  He  turned  round  slowly  and  very  calmly 
to  meet  her,  moving  with  the  almost  measured  ease  of  the 
very  supple  and  strong  man,  drew  forward  a  basket  chair, 
arranged  a  cushion  for  her  politely,  but  rather  carelessly, 
and  not  at  all  cleverly,  and  said,  as  she  sat  down : 

*'You  like  the  heart  of  my  Eastern  house?" 

**How  do  you  manage  the  fountain?"  she  asked. 

He  embarked  upon  a  clear  and  technical  explanation, 
but  when  he  had  said  a  very  few  words,  she  stopped  him. 

*  *  Please  don 't !  You  are  spoiling  my  whole  impression, 
I  oughtn't  to  have  asked." 

''Baroudi  is  a  very*  practical  man,"  said  NigeL  ''I 
only  wish  I  had  him  as  my  overseer  in  the  Fayyum." 

*'If  I  can  ever  give  you  advice  I  shall  be  very  glad," 
said  Baroudi.  *'I  know  all  about  agriculture  in  my 
country." 

Mrs.  Armine  leaned  back,  and  looked  at  the  broad  river, 
upon  which  there  were  many  native  boats  creeping  south- 
ward with  outspread  sails,  at  the  columns  of  the  great 
Temple  of  Luxor  standing  up  boldly  upon  the  eastern  bank, 
at  the  cloud  of  palm-trees  northward  beyond  the  village, 
at  the  far-off  reaches  of  water,  at  the  bare  and  precipitous 
hills  that  keep  the  deserts  of  Libya.  At  all  these  features 
of  the  landscape  she  looked  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  be 
new. 

''Talk  about  agriculture  to  my  husband,  Mahmoud 
Baroudi,"  she  said.    "Forget  I  am  here,  both  of  you." 

*'But " 

''Pas  de  compliments!  This  is  my  first  visit  to  a  daha- 
beeyah.  Your  Nile  is  making  me  dream.  If  only  the 
sailors  were  singing!" 

"They  shall  sing." 

He  went  up  a  few  steps,  and  looked  over  the  upper 
12 


178  BELLA  DONNA 

deck;  then  he  called  out  some  guttural  words.  Abnost 
instantly  the  throb  of  the  darahoukkeh  was  audible,  and 
then  a  nasal  cry :  ' '  Al-lah ! ' ' 

**  And  now — talk  about  agriculture !' * 

Baroudi  turned  away  to  Nigel,  and  began  to  talk  to  him 
in  a  low  voice,  while  Mrs.  Armine  sat  quite  still,  always 
watching  the  Nile,  and  always  listening  to  the  sailors  sing- 
ing. Presently  tea  was  brought,  but  even  then  she  pre- 
served, smiling,  her  soft  but  complete  detachment. 

*'Go  on  talking,''  she  said.  *'You  don't  know  how 
happy  I  am." 

She  looked  at  her  husband,  and  added: 

**I  am  drinking  Nile  water  to-day." 

Into  his  face  there  came  a  strong  look  of  joy,  which 
stirred  irony  in  the  deeps  of  her  nature.  He  did  not  say 
anything  to  her,  but  in  a  moment  he  renewed  his  conversa- 
tion with  Baroudi,  energetically,  vivaciously,  with  an 
ardour  which  she  had  deliberately  given  him,  partly  out 
of  malice,  but  partly  also  to  gain  for  herself  a  longer  lease 
of  tranquillity.  For  she  had  spoken  the  truth.  She  was 
drinking  Nile  water  to-day,  and  she  wanted  to  drink  more 
deeply. 

The  river  was  like  a  dream,  she  thought.  The  great 
boats,  with  their  lateen  sails  and  their  grave  groups  of 
silent  brown  men,  crept  noiselessly  by  like  the  vessels  that 
pass  in  a  dream.  Against  the  sides  of  the  Loulia  she  heard 
the  Nile  water  whispering  softly,  whispering  surely  to 
her.  From  the  near  bank,  mingling  with  the  loud  and 
nasal  song  of  the  Nubian  sailors,  rose  the  fierce  and  almost 
tragic  songs  of  the  fellahin  working  the  shadiifs.  How 
many  kinds  of  lives  there  were  in  the  world ! 

The  blow  that  had  fallen  upon  Mrs.  Armine  had  made 
her  unusually  thoughtful,  unusually  introspective,  unusu- 
ally sensitive  to  all  influences  from  without;  had  left  her 
vibrating  like  a  musical  instrument  that  had  been  power- 
fully struck  by  a  ruthless  hand.  The  gust  of  fury  that  had 
shaken  her  had  stirred  her  to  a  fierce  and  powerful  lifr. 
had  roused  up  all  her  secret  energies  of  temper,  of  will 


BELLA  DONNA  179 

of  desire,  all  her  greed  to  get  the  best  out  of  life,  to  wring 
dry,  as  it  were,  of  their  golden  juices  every  one  of  the 
fleeting  years.  ** To-morrow  we  die/'  Those  who  believe 
that,  as  she  believed  it,  desire  to  live  as  no  believer  in  a 
prolonged  future  in  other  worlds  can  ever  desire  to  live — 
here,  for  the  little  day — and  never  had  she  felt  that  hungry 
wish  more  than  she  felt  it  now.  Through  her  dream  she  felt 
it,  almost  as  a  victim  of  ardent  pain  feels  that  pain,  with- 
out suffering  under  it,  after  an  injection  of  morphia.  If 
she  could  not  have  the  life  to  which  she  had  looked  forward 
of  triumph  in  England,  she  must  have  in  its  place  some 
other  life  that  suited  her  special  temperament,  some  other 
life  that  would  answer  to  the  call  within  her  for  material 
satisfactions,  for  strong  bodily  pleasures,  for  the  joys  of 
the  pagan,  the  unbeliever,  who  is  determined  to  **make  the 
most  of"  the  short  span  of  human  life  on  earth. 

How  could  she  now  have  that  other  life  with  Nigel? 
He  would  never  be  Lord  Harwich.  He  would  never  be  any- 
thing but  Nigel  Armine,  a  man  of  moderate  me  ns  inter- 
ested in  Egyptian  agriculture,  with  a  badly  let  property  in 
England,  and  a  strip  of  desert  in  the  Fayyum.  He  would 
never  be  anything  except  that — and  her  husband,  the  man 
who  had  ''let  her  in."  She  did  not  mentally  add  to  the 
tiny  catalogue — ''and  the  man  who  loved  her." 

For  a  long  while  she  sat  quite  still,  leaning  her  head 
on  the  cushion,  hearing  the  singing  and  crying  voices,  the 
perpetual  whisper  of  the  water  against  the  Loulia's  sides, 
watching  the  gleaming  Nile  and  the  vessels  that  crept  upon 
it  going  towards  the  south;  and  now,  for  the  first  time, 
there  woke  in  her  a  desire  to  follow  them  up  the  river,  to 
sail,  too,  into  the  golden  south.  Instead  of  the  longing  to 
return  to  and  reign  in  England,  came  the  desire  to  push 
England  out  of  her  life,  almost  to  kick  it  away  scornfully 
and  have  done  with  it  for  ever.  Since  she  could  never 
reign  in  England,  she  felt  that  she  hated  England. 

"In  the  summer?  Oh,  I  always  spend  the  summer  in 
England." 

Nigel  was  speaking  cheerfully.    She  began  to  attend  to 


180  BELLA  DONNA 

his  conversation  with  Baroudi,  but  she  still  looked  out  to 
the  Nile,  and  did  not  change  her  position.  They  were 
really  talking  about  agriculture,  and  apparently  with  en- 
thusiasm. Nigel  was  giving  details  of  his  efforts  in  the 
Fayyum.  Now  they  discussed  sand-ploughs.  It  seemed  an 
unpromising  subject,  but  they  fell  upon  it  with  ardour, 
and  found  it  strangely  fruitful.  Even  Baroudi  seemed  to 
be  deeply  interested  in  sand-ploughs.  Mrs.  Armine  forgot 
the  Nile.  She  was  not  at  all  interested  in  sand-ploughs,  but 
she  was  interested  in  this  other  practical  side  of  Baroudi, 
which  was  now  being  displayed  to  her.  Very  soon  she 
knew  that  of  all  these  details  connected  with  land,  its  cul- 
tivation, the  amount  of  profit  it  could  be  made  to  yield  in 
a  given  time,  the  eventual  probabilities  of  profit  in  a  more 
distant  future,  he  was  a  master.  And  Nigel  was  talk- 
ing to  him,  was  listening  to  him,  as  a  pupil  talks  and  listens 
to  a  master.  The  greedy  side  of  Mrs.  Armine  was  very 
practical,  as  Meyer  Isaacson  had  realized,  and  therefore 
she  was  fitted  to  appreciate  at  its  full  value  the  practical 
side  of  Baroudi.  She  felt  that  here  was  a  man  who 
very  well  how  and  where  to  tap  the  streams  whose  w....,x^ 
are  made  of  gold,  and,  as  romance  seduces  many  women, 
so,  secretly,  this  powerful  money-making  aptitude  seduced 
her  temperament,  or  an  important  part  of  it.  She  was 
fascinated  by  this  aptitude,  but  presently  she  was  still 
more  fascinated  by  the  subtle  use  that  he  was  making  of  it. 

He  was  deliberately  rousing  up  NigeFs  ambitions  con- 
nected with  labour,  was  deliberately  stinging  him  to  activ- 
ity, deliberately  prompting  him  to  a  sort  of  manly  shame 
at  the  thought  of  his  present  life  of  repose.  But  he  was 
doing  it  with  an  apparent  carelessness  that  was  deceptive 
and  very  subtle ;  he  was  doing  it  by  talking  about  himself, 
and  his  own  energy,  and  his  own  success,  not  conceitedly, 
but  simply,  and  in  connection  with  NigeFs  plans  and 
schemes  and  desires. 

"Why  was  he  doing  this?  Did  he  want  to  send  Nigel 
to  spend  the  winter  in  the  Fayyum  ?  And  did  he  know  that 
Nigel  intended  to  *'rig  up  something"  in  the  Fayyum  for 
her? 


BELLA  DONNA  181 

She  began  to  wonder,  to  wonder  intensely,  why  Baroudi 
was  stirring  up  Nigel's  enthusiasm  for  work.  It  seemed 
as  if,  for  the  moment,  the  two  men  had  entirely  forgotten 
that  she  was  there,  had  forgotten  that  in  the  world  there 
was  such  a  phenomenon  as  woman.  She  had  a  pleasant 
sensation  of  listening  securely  at  a  key-hole.  Usually  she 
desired  to  attract  to  herself  the  attention  of  every  man 
who  was  near  her.  To-day  she  wished  that  the  conversation 
between  her  husband  and  Baroudi  might  be  indefinitely 
prolonged;  for  a  strange  sense  of  well-being,  of  calmness, 
indeed  of  panacea,  was  beginning  to  steal  at  last  upon  her, 
after  the  excitement,  the  bitter  anger  that  had  upset  her 
spirit.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  in  that  moment  of  utter 
repose  in  the  darkness  of  the  chamber  near  the  fountain  a 
hypnotic  hand  had  been  laid  upon  her,  as  if  it  had  not  yet 
been  removed.  Really  she  was  already  captured  by  the 
dahabeeyah  spell,  although  she  did  not  know  it.  A  daha- 
beeyah  is  the  home  of  dreams,  and  of  a  deeply  quiet  phys- 
ical well-being.  Mrs.  Armine  was  a  very  sensuous  woman, 
and  sensitive  to  all  sensuous  impressions;  so  now,  while 
her  husband  talked  eagerly,  enthusiastically,  of  the  life  of 
activity  and  work,  she  received  from  the  Nile  its  curious 
gift  of  bodily  indolence  and  stillness.  Her  body  never 
moved,  never  wished  to  move,  in  the  deep  and  cushioned 
chair,  was  almost  like  a  body  morphia-stricken;  but  her 
mind  was  alert,  and  judging  the  capacities  of  these  two 
men.  And  still  it  was  seeking  secretly  the  answer  to  a 
* '  Why  ? ' '  when  Nigel  at  length  exclaimed : 

''Anyhow,  I  meant  to  get  off  by  the  train  to-morrow 
night.    And  you?    "When  are  you  starting  up  the  river? *' 

* '  I  have  a  tug.    I  go  away  to-night. ' ' 

*'To  Armant?'' 

* '  To  Armant  for  some  days.  Then  I  go  farther  up  the 
river.  I  have  interests  near  Kom  Ombos.  I  shall  be  away 
some  time,  and  then  drop  down  to  Assiout.  I  have  nothing 
more  to  do  here.'' 

''Interests  in  Assiout,  too?'* 

"  Oh,  yes;  at  Assiout  I  have  a  great  many.     And  just 


IS2  BELLA  DONNA 

beyond  here  I  have  some — a  little  way  up  the  river  on  the 
western  bank." 

''Lands?'' 

**I  have  orange-gardens  there.'* 

**I  vi^onder  you  can  manage  to  look  after  it  all — sugar, 
cotton,  quarries,  house  property,  works,  factories.  Phew! 
it  almost  makes  one's  head  spin.  And  you  see  into  every- 
thing yourself!" 

** Where  the  master's  eye  does  not  look,  the  servant's  is 
turned  away.    Do  you  not  find  it  so  in  the  Fayyiim?" 

**I  shall  know  in  two  or  three  days." 

Nigel  suddenly  looked  round  at  his  wife. 

*  *  I  hear  you, ' '  she  said,  slowly.  *  *  You  had  forgotten  all 
about  me,  but  I  was  listening  to  you. ' ' 

She  moved,  and  sat  straight  up,  putting  her  hands  on 
the  broad  cushioned  arms  of  the  chair. 

*  *  I  was  receiving  a  lesson, ' '  she  added. 
**A  lesson.  Ruby?"  said  Nigel. 

**A  lesson  in  humility." 

Both  men  tried  to  make  her  explain  exactly  what  she 
meant,  but  she  would  not  satisfy  their  curiosity. 

**You  have  brains  enough  to  guess,"  was  all  she  said. 
*'We  must  be  going,  Nigel.  Look!  it  is  nearly  sunset. 
Soon  the  river  will  be  turning  golden." 

As  she  said  the  last  word,  she  looked  at  Baroudi,  and 
her  voice  seemed  to  linger  on  the  word  as  on  a  word  beloved. 

*' Won't  you  stay  and  see  the  sunset  from  here, 
madame?"  he  said. 

"I  am  sure  you  have  lots  to  do.  I  have  been  listening 
to  some  purpose,  and  I  know  you  are  a  man  of  affairs,  and 
can  have  very  little  time  for  social  nonsense,  such  as  occu- 
pies the  thoughts  of  women.  I  feel  almost  guilty  at  having 
taken  up  even  one  of  your  hours." 

Nigel  thought  there  was  in  her  voice  a  faint  sound  as 
if  she  were  secretly  aggrieved. 

Baroudi  made  a  polite  rejoinder,  in  his  curiouslj^  care- 
less and  calmly  detached  way,  but  he  did  not  press  them 
again  to  stay  any  longer,  and  Nigel  felt  certain  that  he  had 


BELLA  DONNA  183 

many  things  to  do — preparations,  perhaps,  to  make  for  his 
departure  that  evening.  He  was  decidedly  not  a  ''woman's 
man, ' '  but  was  a  keen  and  pertinacious  man  of  affairs,  who 
liked  the  activities  of  life  and  knew  how  to  deal  with  men. 

He  bade  them  good-bye  on  the  deck  of  the  sailors. 

Just  before  she  stepped  down  into  the  waiting  felucca, 
Mrs.  Armine,  as  if  moved  by  an  impulse  she  could  not 
resist,  turned  her  head  and  gazed  at  the  strange  Arabic 
letters  of  gold  that  were  carved  above  the  doorway  through 
which  she  had  once  more  passed. 

"The  fate  of  every  man  have  we  bound  about  his  neck.'' 

Baroudi  followed  her  eyes,  and  a  smile,  that  had  no 
brightness  in  it,  flickered  over  his  full  lips,  then  died, 
leaving  behind  it  an  impassible  serenity. 

That  night,  just  when  the  moon  was  coming,  the  Loulia, 
gleaming  with  many  lights,  passed  the  garden  of  the  Villa 
Androud,  and  soon  was  lost  in  the  night,  going  towards  the 
south. 

On  the  following  evening,  by  the  express  that  went  to 
Cairo,  Nigel  started  for  the  Fayyum. 


XVI 

The  Loulia  gone  from  the  reach  of  the  river  which  was 
visible  from  the  garden  of  the  Villa  Androud;  Nigel  gone 
from  the  house  which  was  surrounded  by  that  garden;  a 
complete  solitude,  a  complete  emptiness  of  golden  days 
stretching  out  before  Mrs.  Armine !  When  she  woke  to  that 
little  bit  of  truth,  fitted  in  to  the  puzzle  of  the  truths  of 
her  life,  she  looked  into  vacancy,  and  asked  of  herself  some 
questions. 

Presently  she  came  down  to  the  drawing-room,  dressed 
in  a  thin  coat  and  skirt  that  were  suitable  for  riding,  for 
walking,  for  sitting  among  ruins,  for  gardening,  for  any 
active  occupation.  Yet  she  had  no  plan  in  her  head;  only 
she  was  absolutely  free  to-day,  and  if  it  occurred  to  her  to 

Bant  to  do  anything,  why,  she  was  completely  ready  for 


184  BELLA  DONNA 

the  doing  of  it.  Meanwhile  she  sat  down  on  the  terrace 
and  she  looked  about  the  garden. 

No  one  was  to  be  seen  in  it  from  where  she  was  sitting. 
The  Egyptian  gardener  was  at  work,  or  at  rest  in  some 
hidden  place,  and  all  the  garden  was  at  peace. 

It  was  a  golden  day,  almost  incredibly  clear  and  radiant, 
quivering  with  brightness  and  life,  and  surely  with  ecstasy. 
She  was  set  free,  in  a  passionate  wonder  of  gold.  That 
was  the  first  fact  of  which  she  was  sharply  conscious.  By 
this  time  Nigel  must  be  in  Cairo ;  by  the  evening  he  w^ould 
be  in  that  fabled  Payyum  of  which  she  had  heard  so  much, 
which  had  become  to  her  almost  as  a  moral  symbol.  In  the 
Fayytim  fluted  the  Egyptian  Pan  by  the  water;  in  tjie 
Fayyum,  as  in  an  ample  and  fruitful  bosom,  dwelt  untram- 
melled Nature,  loosed  from  all  shackles  of  civilization.  And 
there,  perhaps  to-morrow,  Nigel  would  begin  making  his 
eager  preparations  for  her  reception  and  housing — his 
ardent  preparations  for  the  taking  of  her  "right  do\\Ti  to 
Nature,"  a^  he  had  once  phrased  it  to  her.  She  touched 
her  whitened  cheek  with  her  carefully  manicured  fingers, 
and  she  wondered,  not  without  irony,  at  the  strange  chances 
of  human  life.  What  imp  had  taken  her  by  the  hand  to 
lead  her  to  a  tent  in  the  Fayyum,  in  which  she  would  dwell 
with  a  man  full  of  an  almost  sacred  moral  enthusiasm? 
She  would  surely  be  more  at  home  lying  on  embroideries 
and  heaped-up  cushions,  with  her  nostrils  full  of  a  faint  but 
heavy  perfume  of  the  East,  and  her  ears  of  the  murmur  of 
dancing  waters,  and  her  mind,  or  spirit,  or  soul,  or  what- 
ever it  was,  in  contact  with  another  *' whatever  it  was,'* 
unlit,  unheated,  by  fires  that  might  possibly  scorch  her, 
but  that  could  never  purify  her. 

"What  a  marvellous  golden  day  it  was!  This  morning 
she  felt  the  beneficent  influence  of  the  exquisite  climate  in 
a  much  more  intimate  way  than  she  had  ever  felt  it  before. 
Why  was  that?  Because  of  Nigel's  absence,  or  because  of 
some  other  reason?  Although  she  asked  herself  the  ques- 
tion, she  did  not  sepk  fr»r  an  answer;  the  weather  was  subtly 
showering  into  ner  an  exquisite  indifference — the  golden 
peace  of  ^' never  mind!'*    In  the  Eastern  house  of  Baroudi, 


BELLA  DONNA  185 

as  she  squeezed  the  silken  cushions  with  her  fingers,  some- 
thing within  her  had  said,  **I  must  squeeze  dry  of  their 
golden  juices  every  one  of  the  fleeting  years.'*  In  this 
day  there  were  some  drops  of  the  golden  juices — some  drops 
that  she  must  squeeze  out,  that  her  thirsty  lips  must  drink. 
For  the  years  were  fleeting  away,  and  then  there  would 
come  the  black,  eternal  nothingness.  She  must  turn  all  her 
attention  towards  the  joys  that  might  still  be  hers  in  the 
short  time  that  was  left  her  for  joy — ^the  short  time,  for 
she  was  a  woman,  and  over  forty. 

A  tent  in  the  Fayyum  with.  Nigel!  Nobody  else  but 
Nigel!  Days  and  days  in  complete  isolation  with  Nigel! 
"With  the  man  who  had  ' '  let  her  in '  M  And  life,  not  steal- 
ing, but  clamorously  rushing  away  from  her! 

She  thought  of  this,  she  faced  it;  the  soul  of  her  con- 
demned it  as  a  fate  almost  ludicrously  unsuited  to  her. 
And  3^et  she  was  undisturbed  in  the  depths  of  her,  although, 
perhaps,  the  surface  was  ruffled.  For  the  weather  would 
not  be  gainsaid,  the  climate  would  have  its  way;  the  blue, 
and  the  gold,  and  the  warmth,  combining  with  the  knowl- 
edge of  freedom,  could  not  be  conquered  by  any  thought 
that  was  black,  or  by  any  fear.  It  seemed  to  her  for  a 
moment  as  if  she  were  almost  struggling  to  be  angry,  to  be 
unhappy,  and  as  if  the  struggle  were  vain. 

She  was  quite  free  in  this  world  of  gold.  What  was  she 
going  to  do  with  her  freedom  ? 

In  the  golden  stillness  of  the  garden  she  heard  the  faint 
rustle  of  a  robe,  and  she  looked  round  and  saw  Ibrahim 
coming  slowly  tow^ards  her,  smiling,  with  his  curly  head 
drooping  a  little  to  the  left  side.  Behind  both  his  ears 
there  were  roses,  and  he  held  a  rose  in  his  hand  with  an 
unlighted  cigarette. 

*'What  are  we  going  to  do  to-day,  Ibrahim ?'*  said  Mrs. 
Armine,  lazily. 

Ibrahim  came  up  and  stood  beside  her,  looking  down 
in  his  very  gentle  and  individual  way.  He  smoothed  the 
front  of  his  djelabieh,  lifted  his  rose,  smelt  it,  and  said  in 
his  low  contralto  voice : 

*'We  are  goin'  across  the  river,  my  lady.*' 


186  BELLA  DONNA 

**Are  weT' 

*'We  are  goin*  to  take  our  liincliin'j  we  are  goin'  to 
be  out  all  day. ' ' 

' ' Oh !    And  what  about  tea ?' ' 

*'We  are  goin'  to  take  it  with  us  in  that  bottle  that 
looks  all  made  of  silver. ' ' 

''Silver  and — gold/'  she  murmured,  looking  into  the 
radiant  distance  where  Thebes  lay  cradled  in  the  arms  of 
the  sun-god. 

' '  And  when  are  we  going,  Ibrahim  ? ' ' 

He  looked  at  her,  and  his  soft,  pale  brown  lips  stretched 
themselves  and  showed  his  dazzling  teeth. 

''When  you  are  ready,  my  lady." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face.  Ibrahim  was  twenty,  but 
he  was  completely  a  boy,  despite  his  great  height  and  his 
tried  capacities  as  a  dragoman.  Everything  in  him  sug- 
gested rather  the  boy  than  the  young  man.  His  long  and 
slim  and  flexible  body,  his  long  brown  neck,  his  small  head, 
covered  with  black  hair  which  curled  thickly,  the  expression 
in  his  generally  smiling  eyes,  even  his  quiet  gestures,  his 
dreamy  poses,  his  gait,  his  way  of  sitting  down  and  of 
getting  up,  all  conveyed,  or  seemed  to  convey,  to  those 
about  him  the  fact  that  he  was  a  boy.  And  there  was  some- 
thing very  attractive  in  this  very  definite  youngness  of  his. 
Somehow  it  inspired  confidence. 

' '  I  suppose  I  am  ready  now. ' ' 

Mrs.  Armine  spoke  slowly,  always  looking  up  at 
Ibrahim. 

"But  is  there  a  felucca  to  take  us  over?"  she  added. 

*'In  four  five  minutes,  my  lady." 

*'Call  to  me  from  here  when  it  is  ready.  I  leave  aU 
the  lunch  and  tea  arrangements  to  you." 

**A11  what  you  want  you  must  have,  my  lady." 

Was  that  a  formula  of  Ibrahim's?  To-day  he  seemed 
to  speak  the  words  with  a  conviction  that  was  not  usual, 
with  some  curious  under-meaning.  How  much  of  a  boy 
was  he  really?  As  Mrs.  Armine  went  upstairs  she  was 
wondering  about  him. 


BELLA  DONNA  187 

Nigel  had  said  to  her,  **You  are  blossoming  here/^ 
And  he  had  said  to  her,  * '  You  are  beautiful,  but  you  do  not 
trust  your  own  beauty. '*  And  that  was  true,  perhaps. 
To-day  she  would  be  quite  alone  with  Ibrahim  and  the 
Egyptians;  she  would  be  in  perfect  freedom,  and  down- 
stairs upon  the  terrace  the  idea  had  come  to  her  to  fill  up 
the  time  that  must  elapse  before  the  felucca  arrived  in 
''undoing"  her  face.  She  went  into  her  bedroom,  and  shut 
and  locked  the  door. 

'  *  The  felucca  is  here  suttinly,  my  lady ! ' ' 

Ibrahim  called  from  the  terrace  some  ten  minutes  later ; 
then  he  came  round  to  the  front  of  the  house,  and  cried  out 
the  words  again. 

''I  shall  be  down  in  a  moment." 

Another  ten  minutes  went  by,  and  then  Mrs.  Armine 
appeared.  She  had  an  ivory  fly-whisk  in  her  hand,  and  a 
white  veil  was  drawn  over  her  face. 

**Is  everything  ready,  Ibrahim?" 

"Everythin\" 

They  went  to  the  felucca  and  crossed  the  river. 

At  a  point  where  there  was  a  stretch  of  flat  sandy  soil 
on  the  western  shore,  Hamza,  the  praying  donkey-boy,  was 
calmly  waiting  with  two  large  and  splendidly  groomed 
donkeys.  Mrs.  Armine  stepped  out  of  the  felucca,  helped 
by  Ibrahim,  and  the  felucca  at  once  put  off,  and  began  to 
return  across  the  Nile.  The  boatmen  sang  in  deep  and 
almost  tragic  voices  as  they  plied  the  enormous  oars.  Their 
voices  faded  away  on  the  gleaming  waste  of  water. 

Mrs.  Armine  had  stood  close  to  the  river  listening  to 
fchem.  When  the  long  diminuendo  was  drawn  back  into  a 
monotonous  murmur  which  she  could  scarcely  hear,  she 
turned  round  with  a  sigh;  and  she  had  a  strange  feeling 
that  a  last  link  which  had  held  her  to  civilization  had 
snapped,  and  that  she  was  now  suddenly  grasped  by  the 
dry,  hot  hands  of  Egypt.  As  she  turned  she  faced  Hamza, 
who  stood  immediately  before  her,  motionless  as  a  statue, 
with  his  huge,  almond-shaped  eyes  fixed  unsmilingly  upon 
her. 


188  BELLA  DONNA 

**May  your  day  be  happy!" 

He  uttered  softly  and  gravely  the  Arabic  greeting. 
Mrs.  Armine  thanked  him  in  English. 

Why  did  she  suddenly  to-day  feel  that  she  lay  in  the 
hot  breast  of  Egypt?  Why  did  she  for  the  first  time  really 
feel  the  intimate  spell  of  this  land — feel  it  in  the  warmth 
that  caressed  her,  in  the  softness  of  the  sand  that  lay 
beneath  her  feet,  in  the  little  wind  that  passed  like  a  butter- 
fly, and  in  the  words  of  Hamza,  in  his  pose,  in  his  look,  in 
his  silence?  Why?  Was  it  because  she  was  no  longer 
companioned  by  Nigel? 

On  the  day  of  her  arrival  Nigel  had  pointed  out  Hamza 
to  her.  Now  and  then  she  had  seen  him  casually,  but  till 
to-day  she  had  never  looked  at  him  carefully,  with  woman 's 
eyes  that  discern  and  appraise. 

Hamza  was  of  a  perfectly  different  type  from  Ibrahim's. 
He  was  excessively  slight,  almost  fragile,  with  little  bones, 
delicate  hands  and  feet,  small  shoulders,  a  narrow  head, 
and  a  face  that  was  like  the  face  of  a  beautiful  bronze, 
grave,  still,  enigmatic,  almost  inhuman  in  its  complete 
repose  and  watchfulness — a  face  that  seemed  to  take  all  and 
to  give  absolutely  nothing.  As  Mrs.  Armine  looked  at  him 
she  remembered  the  descriptive  phrase  that  set  him  apart 
from  all  the  people  of  Luxor.  He  was  *Hhe  praying 
donkey-boy. ' ' 

Why  had  Ibrahim  engaged  him  for  their  expedition 
to-day  ?     She  had  never  had  him  in  her  service  before. 

In  a  low  voice  she  asked  Ibrahim  the  question. 

**He  is  a  very  good  donkey-boy,  but  he  is  not  for  my 
lord  Arminigel." 

Mrs.  Armine  wondered  why,  but  she  asked  nothing 
more.  To-day  she  felt  herself  in  the  hands  of  Egypt,  and 
of  Egypt  Ibrahim  and  Hamza  were  part.  If  she  were  to 
enjoy  to-day  to  the  utmost,  she  felt  that  she  must  be  passive. 
And  something  within  her  seemed  to  tell  her  that  in  all  that 
Ibrahim  was  doing  he  was  guided  by  some  very  definite 
purpose. 

He  helped  her  on  to  her  donkey.    Upon  the  beast  he  was 


BELLA  DONNA  189 

going  to  ride  were  slung  two  ample  panniers.  The  fragile- 
looking  Hamza,  whose  body  was  almost  as  strong  and  as 
flexible  as  mail,  would  run  beside  them — to  eternity,  if 
need  be — on  naked  feet. 

''Where  are  we  going,  Ibrahim T' 

*'We  are  goin'  this  way,  my  lady.'* 

He  gave  a  loud,  an  almost  gasping,  sigh.  Instantly  his 
donkey  started  forward,  followed  by  Mrs.  Armine's.  The 
broad  river  was  left  behind;  they  set  their  course  toward 
the  arid  mountains  of  Libya.  Ibrahim  kept  always  in  front 
to  lead  the  way.  He  had  pushed  his  tarbush  to  the  back 
of  his  curly  head,  and  as  he  rode  he  leaned  backwards  from 
his  beast,  sticking  out  his  long  legs,  from  which  the 
wrinkling  socks  slipped  down,  showing  his  dark  brown  skin. 
He  began  to  sing  to  himself  in  a  low  and  monotonous  voice, 
occasionally  interrupting  his  song  to  utter  the  loud  sigh  that 
urged  the  donkey  on,  Hamza  ran  lightly  beside  Mrs. 
Armine.  He  was  dressed  in  white,  and  wore  a  white  turban. 
In  his  right  hand  he  grasped  a  long  piece  of  sugar-cane. 
As  he  ran,  holding  himself  quite  straight,  his  face  never 
changed  its  expression,  his  eyes  were  always  fixed  upon 
the  mountains  of  Libya. 

Upon  the  broad,  flat  lands  that  lay  between  the  Nile  and 
the  ruins  of  Thebes  the  young  crops  shed  a  sharp  green 
that  looked  like  a  wash  of  paint.  Here  and  there  the  minia- 
ture forests  of  doura  stood  up  almost  still  in  the  sunshine. 
Above  the  sturdy  brakes  of  the  sugar-cane  the  crested 
hoopoes  flew,  and  the  larks  sang,  fluttering  their  little 
wings  as  if  in  an  almost  hysterical  ecstasy.  Although  the 
time  was  winter,  and  the  Christians '  Christmas  was  not  far 
off,  the  soft  airs  seemed  to  be  whispering  all  the  sweet 
messages  of  the  ardent  spring  that  smiles  over  Eastern 
lands.  This  was  a  world  of  young  rapture,  not  careless, 
but  softly  intense  with  joy.  All  things  animate  and  inani- 
mate were  surely  singing  a  love-song,  effortless  because  it 
flowed  from  the  very  core  of  a  heart  that  had  never  known 


sorrow, 
ti 


You  are  blossoming  here !  * ' 


190  BELLA  DONNA 

Nigel  had  said  that  to  Mrs.  Armine,  and  she  thought 
of  his  words  now,  and  she  felt  that  to-day  they  were  tnie. 
Where  was  she  going?  She  did  not  care.  She  was  going 
under  this  singing  sky,  over  this  singing  land,  through  this 
singing  sunshine.  That  was  surely  enough.  Once  or  twice 
she  looked  at  Ilamza,  and,  because  he  never  looked  at  her, 
presently  she  spoke  to  him,  making  some  remark  about  the 
weather  in  English.  He  turned  his  head,  fixed  his  unyield- 
ing eyes  upon  her,  said  ''Yes,''  and  glanced  away.  She 
asked  him  a  question  which  demanded  *'No  "  for  an 
answer.  This  time  he  said  ''Yes,"  but  without  looking  at 
her.  Like  a  living  bronze  he  ran  on,  lightly,  swiftly, 
severely,  towards  the  tiger-coloured  mountains.  And  some- 
thing in  Hamza  now  made  Mrs.  Armine  wonder  where 
they  were  going.  Already  she  had  seen  the  ruins  on  the 
western  shore  of  the  Nile;  she  was  familiar  with  Medinat- 
Habu,  with  Deir-al-Bahari,  with  Kurna,  with  the  Rames- 
seum,  with  the  tombs  of  the  Kings  and  of  the  Queens.  They 
had  landed  at  a  point  that  lay  to  the  south  of  Thebes,  and 
now  seemed  to  be  making  for  Medinat-Habu. 

"Where  are  we  going,  Hamza?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  replied. 

And  he  ran  on,  holding  the  piece  of  sugar-cane,  like  some 
hieratic  figure  holding  a  torch  in  a  procession.  Ibrahim 
stopped  his  song  to  sigh,  and  struck  his  donkey  lightly 
under  the  right  ear,  causing  it  to  turn  sharply  to  the  left. 
In  the  distance  Mrs.  Armine  saw  the  great  temple  of 
Medinat-Habu,  but  it  was  not  their  destination.  They  were 
leaving  it  on  their  right.  And  now  Ibrahim  struck  his 
donkey  again,  and  they  went  on  rapidly  towards  the 
Libyan  mountains.  The  heat  increased  as  the  day  wore  on 
towards  noon,  but  she  did  not  mind  it — indeed,  she  had  the 
desire  that  it  might  increase.  She  saw  the  drops  of  perspi- 
ration standing  on  the  face  of  the  living  bronze  who  ran 
beside  her.  Ibrahim  ceased  from  singing.  Had  the  ap- 
proach of  the  golden  noontide  laid  a  spell  upon  his  lips? 

They  went  on,  and  on,  and  on. 


BELLA  DONNA  191 

**This  is  the  lunchin '-place,  my  lady.*' 

At  last  Ibrahim  pulled  up  his  donkey,  and  slid  off, 
drawing  his  djelabieh  together  with  his  brown  hands. 

' '  Ss — ss — ss — ss ! ' ' 

Hamza  hissed,  and  Mrs.  Armine's  donkey  stopped 
abruptly.  She  got  down.  She  was,  or  felt  as  if  she  was,  in 
the  very  heart  of  the  mountains,  in  a  fiery  place  of  beetling 
yellow,  and  brownish  and  reddish  yellow,  precipices  and 
heaped  up  rocks  that  looked  like  strangely-shaped  flames 
solidified  by  some  cruel  and  mysterious  process.  The 
ground  felt  hot  to  her  feet  as  'she  stood  still  and  looked 
about  her.  Her  first  impression  was  one  of  strong  excite- 
ment. This  empty  place  excited  her  as  a  loud,  fierce,  savage 
noise  excites.  The  look  of  it  was  like  noise.  For  a  moment 
she  stood,  and  though  she  was  really  only  gazing,  she  felt 
as  if  she  were  listening — listening  to  hardness,  to  heat,  to 
gleam,  that  were  crying  out  to  her. 

Hamza  took  down  the  panniers  after  laying  his  wand 
of  sugar-cane  upon  the  burning  ground. 

' '  Why  have  you  brought  me  here  ? ' ' 

The  question  was  in  Mrs.  Armine's  mind,  but  she  did 
not  speak  it.  She  put  up  her  hands,  lifted  her  veil,  and  let 
the  sun  fall  upon  her  "undone"  face,  but  only  for  an 
instant.  Then  she  let  her  veil  down  again,  and  said  to 
Ibrahim : 

*'You  must  find  me  some  shade,  Ibrahim." 

* '  My  lady,  you  come  with  me ! '  * 

He  walked  on  up  the  tiny,  ascending  track,  that  was 
like  a  yellow  riband  which  had  been  let  down  from  the 
sun,  and  she  followed  him  round  a  rock  that  was  thrust  out 
as  if  to  bar  the  way,  and  on  to  a  flat  ledge  over  which  the 
mountain  leaned.  A  long  and  broad  shadow  fell  here,  and 
the  natural  wall  behind  the  ledge  was  scooped  out  into  a 
shape  that  suggested  repose.  As  she  came  upon  this  ledge, 
and  confronted  this  shadow,  Mrs.  Armine  uttered  a  cry  of 
surprise.  For  against  the  rock  there  lay  a  pile  of  heaped- ap 
cushions,  and  over  a  part  of  the  ledge  was  spread  a  superb 
carpet.     In  this  hot  and  savage  and  desolate  place  it  80 


192  BELLA  DONNA 

startled  that  it  almost  alarmed  her  to  come  abruptly  on 
these  things,  which  forcibly  suggested  luxury  and  people, 
and  she  glanced  sharply  round,  again  lifting  her  veil.  But 
she  saw  only  gleaming  yellow  and  amber  and  red  rocks, 
and  shining  tresses  of  sand  among  them,  and  precipices 
that  looked  almost  like  still  cascades  of  fire.  And  again 
she  seemed  to  hear  hardness,  and  heat,  and  gleam  that  were 
crying  out  to  her. 

**This  is  the  lunchin *-place,  my  lady.** 

Ibrahim  was  looking  at  the  ground  where  the  carpet 
was  spread. 

''But — whom  do  these  things  belong  to?** 

"Suttinly  they  are  for  you." 

* '  They  were  put  here  for  me  ? '  * 

*'Suttinly.'* 

Always  he  looked  like  a  gentle  and  amiable  boy.  Mrs. 
Armine  stared  at  him  searchingly  for  a  moment,  then, 
swayed  by  a  sudden  impulse,  she  went  to  the  edge  of  the 
great  rock  that  hid  Hamza  and  the  donkeys  from  them,  and 
looked  round  it  to  the  path  by  which  she  had  come.  On 
it  Hamza  was  kneeling  with  his  forehead  against  the 
ground.  He  lifted  himself  up,  and  with  his  eyes  fast  shut 
he  murmured,  murmured  his  prayers.  Then  he  bent  again, 
and  laid  his  forehead  once  more  against  the  ground.  Mrs. 
Armine  drew  back.  She  did  not  know  exactly  why,  but 
she  felt  for  an  instant  chilled  in  the  burning  sunshine. 

"Hamza  is  praying,**  she  said  to  Ibrahim,  who  stood 
calmly  by  the  carpet. 

' '  Suttinly !  *  *  he  replied.  '  *  When  Hamza  stop,  him  pray^ 
Hamza  is  very  good  donkey-boy.** 

Mrs.  Armine  asked  no  more  questions.  She  sat  down 
on  the  carpet  and  leaned  against  the  cushions.  Now  she 
was  protected  from  the  fierce  glare  of  the  sun,  and,  almost 
a.s  from  a  box  at  a  theater,  she  could  comfortably  survey 
the  burning  pageant  that  Nature  gave  to  her  eyes.  Ibrahim 
went  to  and  fro  in  his  golden  robe  over  the  yellow  ground, 
bringing  her  food  and  water  with  lemon-juice  in  it,  and, 
when  all  was  carefully  and  deftly  arranged,  he  said: 


f 


BELLA  DONNA  19^ 

**Is  there  anythin*  more,  my  ladyT' 

Mrs.  Armine  shook  her  head. 

*'No,  Ibrahim.  I  have  everything  I  want;  I  am  very 
comfortable  here.'* 

* '  All  what  you  want  you  must  have  to-day,  my  lady. ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  and  went  away,  and  was  hidden  by 
the  rock.  It  seemed  to  her  that  a  curious  expression,  that 
was  unboyish  and  sharp  with  meaning,  had  dawned  and 
died  in  his  eyes. 

Slowly  she  ate  a  little  food,  and  she  sipped  the  lemon 
and  water. 

Ibrahim  did  not  return,  nor  did  she  hear  his  voice  or 
the  voice  of  Hamza.  She  knew,  of  course,  that  the  two 
Egyptians  were  near  her,  behind  the  rock;  nevertheless, 
presently,  since  she  could  not  see  or  hear  them,  she  began 
to  feel  as  if  she  were  entirely  alone  in  the  mountains.  She 
drew  down  one  of  the  cushions  from  the  rock  behind  her, 
and  laid  and  kept  her  hand  upon  it.  And  the  sensation  the 
silk  gave  to  her  fingers  seemed  to  take  her  again  into  the 
Eastern  house  of  Baroudi.  She  finished  her  meal,  she  put 
down  upon  the  carpet  the  empty  glass,  and,  shutting  her 
eyes,  she  went  on  feeling  the  cushions.  And  as  she  felt 
them  she  seemed  to  see  again  Ilamza,  with  his  beautiful 
and  severe  face,  praying  upon  the  yellow  ground. 

Hamza,  Ibrahim,  Baroudi.  They  were  all  of  Eastern 
blood,  they  were  all  of  the  same  faith,  of  the  faith  from 
e  bosom  of  which  emanated  the  words  which  were  written 
pon  the  Loulia: 

' '  The  fate  of  every  man  have  we  bound  about  his  neck. ' ' 

Of  every  man !  And  what  of  the  fate  of  woman  ?  What 
of  her  fate  ? 

She  opened  her  eyes,  and  saw  Baroudi  standing  near 
her,  leaning  against  a  rock  and  looking  steadily  at  her. 

For  an  instant  she  did  not  Imow  whether  she  was 
startled  or  not.  She  seemed  to  be  aware  of  two  selves,  the 
conscious  self  and  the  subconscious  self,  to  know  that  they 
were  in  a  sharp  conflict  of  sensation.  And  because  of  this 
conflict  she  could  not  say,  to  herself  even,  that  the  sum 
13 


194  BELLA  DONNA 

total  of  her  was  this  or  that.  For  the  conscious  self  had 
surely  never  expected  to  see  Baroudi  here;  and  the  sub- 
conscious self  had  surely  known  quite  well  that  he  would 
come  into  this  hard  and  yellow  place  of  fire  to  be  alone  with 
her. 

''Thank  you  so  much  for  the  carpet  and  the  cushions." 

The  subconscious  self  had  gained  the  victory.  No,  she 
was  not  surprised.  Baroudi  moved  from  the  rock,  and, 
without  smiling,  came  slowly  up  to  her  over  the  shining 
ground  that  looked  metal  in  the  fierce  radiance  of  the  sun. 
He  wore  a  suit  of  white  linen,  white  shoes,  and  the  tarbush. 

^^Puisque  voire  mari  n'y  est  plus,  parlous  Frangais/' 
he  said. 

*^Comme  votis  voulez/'  '  she  replied. 

She  did  not  ask  -him  why  he  preferred  to  speak  in 
French.  Very  few  whys  stood  just  then  between  her  and 
this  man  whom  she  scarcely  knew.  They  went  on  talking 
in  French.  At  first  Baroudi  continued  to  stand  in  the  sun, 
and  she  looked  up  at  him  with  composure  from  her  place 
of  shadow. 

**Armant  is  in  this  direction?"  she  said. 

*'I  do  not  say  that,  but  it  is  not  so  far  as  the  Fayyum." 

''I  know  so  little  of  Egypt.  You  must  forgive  my 
ignorance." 

**You  will  know  more  of  my  country,  much  more  than 
other  Englishwomen — some  day." 

He  spoke  with  an  almost  brutal  composure  and  self- 
possession,  and  she  noticed  that  he  no  longer  closed  his 
sentences  with  the  word  ''madame."  His  great  eyes,  as 
they  looked  steadily  down  to  her,  were  as  direct,  as  cruelly 
direct,  in  their  gaze  as  the  eyes  of  a  bird  of  prey.  They 
pierced  her  defences,  but  to-day  did  not  permit  her,  in 
return,  to  pierce  his,  to  penetrate,  even  a  little  way,  into  his 
territory  of  thought,  of  feeling.  She  remembered  the  eyes 
of  Meyer  Isaacson.  They,  too,  were  almost  cruelly  pene- 
trating; but  whereas  they  distinctly  showed  his  mind  at 
work,  the  eyes  of  Baroudi  now  seemed  to  hide  what  his 
mind  was  doing  while  they  stared  at  the  working  of  hers. 


BELLA  DONNA  195 

And  this  combination  of  refusal  and  robbery,  blatantly 
selfish  and  egoistic,  conveyed  to  her  spirit  an  extraordinary 
sense  of  his  power.  For  years  she  had  dominated  men. 
This  man  could  dominate  her.  He  knew  it.  He  had  always 
known  it,  from  the  first  moment  when  his  eyes  rested  on 
hers.  Was  it  that  which  was  Greek  or  that  which  was 
Egyptian  in  him  which  already  overcame  her?  the  keenly 
practical  and  energetic  or  the  mysterious  and  fatalistic? 
As  yet  she  could  not  tell.  Perhaps  he  had  a  double  lure 
for  the  two  sides  of  her  nature. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  she  said.  *'I  doubt  it.  I'm  not 
sure  that  I  shall  spend  another  winter  in  Egypt." 

His  eyes  became  more  sombre,  looked  suddenly  as  if 
even  their  material  weight  must  have  increased. 

''That  is  known,  but  not  to  you,"  he  said. 

*'And  not  to  you!"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  sharpness, 
very  womanly  and  modern. 

With  a  quick  and  supple  movement  he  was  beside  her, 
stretching  his  length  upon  the  ground  in  the  shadow  of  the 
mountain.  He  turned  slightly  to  one  side,  raising  himself 
up  a  little  on  one  strong  arm,  and  keeping  in  that  position 
without  any  apparent  effort. 

' '  Please  don 't  try  the  old  hypnotic  fakir  tricks  upon  me, 
Baroudi,"  she  added,  pushing  up  the  cushions  against 
the  rock  behind  her.  "I  know  quantities  of  hysterical 
European  women  make  fools  of  themselves  out  here,  but  J 

not  hysterical,  I  assure  you." 

'*No,  you  are  practical,  as  I  am,  and  something  else— 

I  am." 

He  bent  back  his  head  a  little.  The  movement  showed 
her  his  splendid  throat,  which  seemed  to  announce  all  the 
concentrated  strength  that  was  in  him — a  strength  both 
calm  and  fiery,  not  unlike  that  of  the  rocks,  like  petrified 
flames  which  hemmed  them  in. 

' '  Something  else  ?    What  is  it  ? " 

''Why  do  women  so  often  ask  questions  to  which  they 
know  the  answers?    Here  is  Ibrahim  with  our  coffee." 

At  this  moment,  indeed,   Ibrahim  came  slowly  from 


C 


196  BELLA  DONNA 

behind  the  rocky  barrier,  carrying  coffee-cups,  sugar,  and 
a  steaming  brass  coffee-pot  on  a  tray.  Without  speaking  a 
word,  he  placed  the  tray  gently  upon  the  ground,  filled  the 
cups,  handed  them  to  Mrs.  Armine  and  Baroudi,  and  went 
quietly  away.     He  had  not  looked  at  Mrs.  Armine. 

And  she  had  thought  of  Ibrahim  as  just  a  gentle  and 
amiable  boy! 

Could  all  these  people  read  her  mind  and  follow  the 
track  of  her  distastes  and  desires,  even  the  dragomans  and 
the  donkey-boys  ?  For  an  instant  she  felt  as  if  the  stalwart 
Englishmen,  the  governing  race,  whom  she  knew  so  well, 
were  only  children — short-sighted  and  frigid  children — 
that  these  really  submissive  Egyptians,  Baroudi,  Ibrahim, 
and  the  praying  Hamza,  were  crafty  and  hot-blooded  men 
with  a  divinatory  power. 

*'Your  coffee,"  said  Baroudi,  handing  to  her  a  cup. 

She  drank  a  little,  put  down  the  cup,  and  said: 

**The  first  night  we  were  at  the  Villa  Androud  your 
Nubian  sailors  came  up  the  Nile  and  sang  just  underneath 
the  garden.    Why  did  they  do  that  ? '  * 

*' Because  they  are  my  men,  and  had  my  orders  to  sing 
to  you.'* 

''And  Ibrahim — and  Hamza?"  she  asked. 

''They  had  my  orders  to  bring  you  here." 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

She  was  silent  for  an  instant. 

"Yes;  of  course  they  had  your  orders." 

As  she  spoke  a  hot  wave  of  intimate  satisfaction  seemed 
to  run  aU  over  her.  From  Alexandria  this  man  had  greeted 
her  on  the  first  evening  of  her  new  life  beside  the  Nile.  He 
had  greeted  her  then,  and  now  he  had  surely  insulted  her. 
He  acknowledged  calmly  that  he  had  treated  her  as  a 
chattel. 

She  loved  that. 

He  had  greeted  her  on  that  first  evening  with  a  song 
about  Allah.  Her  mind,  moving  quickly  from  thought  to 
thought,  now  alighted  upon  that  remembrance,  and  imme- 
diately she  recollected  Hamza  and  his  prayer,   and  she 


BELLA  DONNA  197 

wondered  how  strong  was  the  belief  in  Allah  of  the  ruthless 
being  beside  her. 

''They  sang  a  song  about  Allah/'  she  said,  slowly. 
* '  Allah  was  the  only  word  I  could  understand. ' ' 

Baroudi  raised  himself  up  a  little  more,  and,  staring 
into  her  face,  he  opened  his  lips,  and,  in  a  loud  and  melan- 
choly voice,  sang  the  violent,  syncopated  tune  the  Nubian 
boatmen  love.  The  hot  yellow  rocks  around  them  seemed  to 
act  as  a  sounding-board  to  his  voice.  Its  power  w^as  surely 
unnatural,  and,  combined  with  his  now  expressionless  face, 
made  upon  her  an  effect  that  was  painfuL  Nevertheless,  it 
allured  her.    When  he  was  silent,  she  murmured : 

"Yes,  it  was  that." 

He  said  nothing,  and  his  absolute  silence  following  upon 
his  violent  singing  strengthened  the  grip  of  his  strangeness 
upon  her.  Only  a  little  while  ago  she  had  felt,  had  even 
known,  that  she  and  Baroudi  understood  one  another  as 
Nigel  and  she  could  never  understand  one  another.  Now 
suddenly  she  felt  a  mystery  in  Baroudi  far  deeper,  far  more 
impenetrable,  than  any  mystery  that  dwelt  in  Nigel.  This 
mystery  seemed  to  her  to  be  connected  with  his  belief  in 
an  all-powerful  God,  in  some  Being  outside  of  the  world,' 
presiding  over  its  destinies,  ordering  all  the  fates  which  it 
contained.  And  whereas  the  belief  of  her  husband,  which 
she  divined  and  was  often  sharply  conscious  of,  moved  her 
to  a  feeling  of  irony  such  as  may  be  felt  by  a  naturally 
sardonic  person  when  hearing  the  naive  revelations  of  a 
child,  the  faith  of  Baroudi  fascinated  her,  and  moved  her 
almost  to  a  sensation  of  awe.  It  was  like  a  fire  which  burnt 
her,  and  like  an  iron  door  which  shut  against  her. 

Yet  he  had  never  spoken  of  it ;  he  did  not  speak  of  it 
now.    But  he  had  sung  the  song  of  Nubia. 

*'Did  you  tell  Ibrahim  that  he  was  to  choose  Hamza  as 
my  donkey-boy  to-day?"  she  said. 

She  was  still  preoccupied,  still  she  seemed  to  see  Hamza 
running  beside  her  towards  the  mountains,  praying  among 
the  rocks. 

**Yes.'' 


198  BELLA  DONNA 

'*Hamza  is  a  very  good  donkey-boy." 

In  that  moment  Mrs.  Armine  began  to  feel  afraid  of 
Hamza,  even  afraid  of  his  prayers.  That  was  strangely 
absurd,  she  knew,  because  she  believed  in  nothing.  Baroudi 
now  let  himself  sink  down  a  little,  and  rested  his  cheek 
upon  his  hand.  Somewhere  he  had  learnt  the  secret  of 
European  postures.  There  had  been  depths  of  strangeness 
in  his  singing.  There  was  a  depth  of  strangeness  in  his 
demeanour.  He  had  greeted  her  from  the  Nile  by  night 
when  he  was  far  away  in  Alexandria;  he  had  ordered 
Ibrahim  and  Hamza  to  bring  her  into  this  solitary  place, 
and  now  he  lay  beside  her  with  his  strong  body  at  rest;  and 
his  mind,  apparently,  lost  in  some  vagrant  reverie,  not 
heeding  her,  not  making  any  effort  to  please  her,  not  even 
— so  it  seemed  to  her  now — thinking  about  her.  Why  was 
she  not  piqued,  indignant?  "Why  was  she  even  actually 
charmed  by  his  indifference? 

She  did  not  ask  herself  why.  Perhaps  she  was  catch- 
ing from  him  a  mood  that  had  never  before  been  hers. 

For  a  long  time  they  remained  thus  side  by  side,  quite 
motionless,  quite  silent.  And  that  period  of  stillness  was 
to  Mrs.  Armine  the  most  strange  period  she  had  ever  passed 
through  in  a  life  that  had  been  full  of  events.  In  that 
stillness  she  was  being  subdued,  in  that  stillness  moulded, 
in  that  stillness  drawn  away.  What  was  active,  and  how 
was  it  active?  What  spoke  in  the  stillness?  No  echoes 
replied  with  their  charmed  voices  among  the  gleaming  rocks 
of  the  Libyan  mountains.  Nevertheless,  something  had 
lifted  up  a  voice  and  had  cried  aloud.  And  an  answer  had 
come  that  had  been  no  echo. 

In  repose  there  is  renewaL  When  they  spoke  again  the 
almost  avid  desire  to  make  the  most  of  the  years  that  re- 
mained to  her  had  grown  much  stronger  in  Mrs.  Armine, 
and  there  had  been  born  within  her  one  of  those  curious 
beliefs  which,  it  seems,  come  only  to  women — the  belief 
that  there  was  reserved  for  her  a  revenge  upon  a  fate, 
the  fate  that  had  taken  from  her  the  possibility  of  having 


BELLA  DONNA  199 

all  that  she  had  married  Nigel  to  obtain,  and  the  belief  that 
she  would  achieve  that  revenge  by  means  of  the  man  whc 
lay  beside  her. 

XVII 

That  evening,  when  Mrs.  Armine  stepped  out  of  the 
felucca  at  the  foot  of  the  garden  of  the  Villa  Androud,  she 
did  not  wait  for  Ibrahim  to  help  her  up  the  bank,  but 
hurried  away  alone,  crossed  the  garden  and  the  terrace, 
went  to  her  bedroom,  shut  and  locked  the  door,  lit  the 
candles  on  either  side  of  the  long  mirror  that  stood  in  the 
dressing-room,  pushed  up  her  veil,  and  anxiously  looked 
at  her  ' '  undone ' '  face  in  the  glass. 

Had  her  action  been  very  unwise?  Several  times  that 
day,  while  with  Baroudi,  she  had  felt  something  that  was 
almost  like  panic  invade  her  at  the  thought  of  what  she 
had  done.  Now,  quite  alone  and  safe,  she  asked  herself 
whether  she  had  been  a  fool  to  obey  Nigel's  injunction  and 
to  trust  her  own  beauty. 

She  gazed;  she  took  off  her  hat  and  she  gazed  again, 
hard,  critically,  almost  cruelly. 

There  came  a  sharp  knock  against  the  door. 

''Who  isitr' 

**C'est  moi,  madame!^' 

Mrs.  Armine  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

**Come  here,  Marie!"  she  said,  almost  roughly,  "and 
tell  me  the  truth.  I  don't  want  any  flattering  or  any 
palavering  from  you.  Do  you  think  I  look  younger,  better 
looking,  with  something  on  my  face,  or  like  this  ? ' ' 

She  put  her  face  close  to  the  light  of  the  candles  and 
stood  quite  still.    Marie  examined  her  with  sharp  attention. 

* '  Madame  has  got  to  look  much  younger  here,  * '  she  said, 
at  length.  *' Madame  has  changed  very  much  since  we 
have  been  in  Egy'pt.  I  do  not  know,  but  I  think,  perhaps, 
here  madame  can  go  without  anythinj?,  unless,  of  course, 
she  is  going  to  be  with  Frenchmen.  But  if  madame  is  much 
in  the  sun,  at  night  she  should  be  careful  to  put " 


200  BELLA  DONNA 

And  the  maid  ran  on,  happy  in  a  subject  that  appealed 
to  her  whole  nature. 

Mrs.  Armine  dined  alone  and  quickly.  It  was  past  nine 
o'clock  when  she  finished,  and  went  out  to  sit  on  the  terrace, 
and  to  smoke  her  cigarette  and  drink  her  coffee.  In  return- 
ing from  the  mountains  she  had  scarcely  spoken  to  Ibrahim, 
and  had  not  spoken  to  Ilamza  except  to  wish  him  good-night 
upon  the  bank  of  the  Nile.  She  remembered  now  the 
expression  in  his  almond-shaped  eyes  when  he  had  returned 
her  salutation — an  unfathomable  expression  of  ruthless 
undei^tanding  that  stripped  her  nature  bare  of  all  dis- 
guises, and  seemed  to  leave  it  as  it  was  for  all  the  men  of 
this  land  to  see. 

Ibrahim  \s  eyes  never  could  look  like  Hamza's.  And  yet 
between  Ibrahim  and  Hamza  what  essential  difference  was 
there ! 

Suddenly  she  said  to  herself:  '*Why  should  I  bother 
my  head  about  these  people,  a  servant  and  a  donkey-boy  ? ' ' 

In  England  she  would  never  have  cared  in  the  least 
what  the  people  in  her  service  thought  about  her.  But  out 
here  things  seemed  to  be  different.  And  Ibrahim  and 
Hamza  had  brought  her  to  the  place  where  Baroudi  had 
been  waiting  to  meet  her.  They  were  in  Baroudi 's  pay. 
That  was  the  crude  fact.  She  considered  it  now  as  she  sat 
alone,  sipping  the  Turkish  coffee  that  Hassan  had  carried 
out  to  her,  and  smoking  her  cigarette.  She  said  to  herself 
that  she  ought  to  be  angry,  but  she  knew  that  she  was  not 
angry.  She  knew  that  she  was  pleased  that  Ibrahim  and 
Hamza  had  been  bought  by  Baroudi.  Easterns  are  born 
with  an  appetite  for  intrigue,  with  a  love  of  walking  in 
hidden  ways  and  creeping  along  devious  paths.  Why 
should  those  by  whom  she  happened  to  be  surrounded  dis- 
card their  natures  ? 

And  then  she  thought  of  Nigel. 

How  much  more  at  her  ease  she  was  with  Baroudi  than 
she  could  ever  be  with  Nigel!  What  Nigel  desired  she 
could  never  give  him.  She  might  seem  to  give  it,  but  the 
bread  would  be  really  a  stone,  even  if  he  were  deceived. 


BELLA  DONNA  201 

And  he  would  be  deceived.  But  what  Baroudi  desired  she 
eould  give.  It  seemed  to  her  to-night  indeed  that  she  was 
born  to  give  just  what  he  desired.  She  made  no  mistake 
about  herself.  And  he  could  give  to  her  exactly  what 
she  wanted.  So  she  thought  now.  For,  since  the  long  day 
in  the  mountains,  her  old  ambition  seemed  to  have  died,  to 
have  been  slain,  and,  with  its  death,  had  suddenly  grown 
more  fierce  within  her  the  governing  love,  or  governing 
greed,  for  material  things — for  money,  jewels,  lovely  bibe- 
lots, for  all  that  is  summed  up  in  the  one  word  luxe.  And 
Baroudi  was  immensely  rich,  and  would  grow  continually 
richer.  She  knew  how  to  weigh  a  man  in  the  balance,  and 
though,  even  for  her,  there  was  mystery  in  him,  she  could 
form  a  perfectly  i*ight  judgment  of  his  practical  capacity, 
of  his  power  of  acquirement. 

But  he  could  give  her  more  than  luxe,  much  more 
than  luxe. 

And  as  she  acknowledged  that  to  herself,  there  came 
into  Mrs.  Armine's  heart  a  new  inhabitant. 

That  inhabitant  was  fear. 

She  knew  that  in  Baroudi  she  had  found  a  man  by 
whom  she  could  be  governed,  by  whom,  perhaps,  she  could 
be  destroyed,  because  in  him  she  had  found  a  man  whom 
she  could  love,  in  no  high,  eternal  way — she  was  not 
capable  of  loving  any  man  like  that — ^but  with  the  dan- 
gerous force,  the  jealous  physical  passion  and  desire,  the 
almost  bitter  concentration,  that  seem  to  come  to  life  in 
a  certain  type  of  woman  only  when  youth  is  left  behind. 

She  knew  that,  and  she  was  afraid  as  she  had  never 
been  afraid  before. 

That  night  she  slept  very  little.  Two  or  three  times,  as 
she  lay  awake  in  the  dark,  she  heard  distant  voices  singing 
somewhere  on  the  Nile,  and  she  turned  upon  the  bed,  and 
she  longed  to  be  out  in  the  night,  nearer  to  the  voices.  They 
seemed  to  be  there  for  her,  to  be  calling  her,  and  they 
brought  back  to  her  memory  the  sound  of  Baroudi 's  voice, 
when  he  raised  himself  up,  stared  into  her  face,  and  sang 
the  song  about  Allah,  the  song  of  the  Nubian  boatmen. 


202  BELLA  DONNA 

And  then  she  saw  him  before  her  in  the  darkness  with 
a  painful  clearness,  as  if  he  were  lit  up  by  the  burning  rays 
of  the  sun.  Why  had  she  met  this  man  immediately  after 
she  had  taken  the  vital  step  into  another  marriage?  For 
years  she  had  been  free,  free  as  only  the  social  outcast  can 
be  who  is  forcibly  driven  out  into  an  almost  terrible  liberty, 
and  through  all  those  years  of  freedom  she  had  used  men 
without  really  loving  any  man.  And  then,  at  last,  she  had 
once  more  bound  herself,  she  had  taken  what  seemed  to  be 
a  decisive  step  towards  an  ultimate  respectability,  perhaps 
an  ultimate  social  position,  and  no  sooner  had  she  done  this 
than  chance  threw  in  her  way  a  man  who  could  grip  her, 
rouse  her,  appeal  to  all  the  chief  wants  in  her  nature. 
Those  words  in  the  Koran,  were  they  not  true  for  her? 
Her  fate  had  surely  been  bound  about  her  neck.  By  whom  ? 
If  she  asked  Baroudi  she  knew  what  he  would  tell  her. 
Strangely,  even  his  faith  fascinated  her,  although  at  Nigel's 
faith  she  secretly  laughed;  for  in  Baroudi *s  faith  there 
seemed  to  be  a  strength  that  was  hard,  that  was  fierce  and 
cruel.  Even  in  his  religion  she  felt  him  to  be  a  brigand, 
trying  to  seize  with  greedy  hands  upon  the  promises  and 
the  joys  of  another  world.  He  was  determined  not  to  be 
denied  anything  that  he  really  desired. 

She  turned  again  on  her  pillows,  and  she  put  her  arms 
©utside  the  sheet,  then  she  put  her  hands  up  to  her  face 
and  felt  that  her  cheeks  were  burning.  And  she  remem- 
bered how,  long  ago,  when  she  was  a  young  married  woman, 
one  night  she  had  lain  awake  and  had  felt  her  burning 
cheeks  with  her  hands. 

That  was  soon  after  she  had  met  the  man  for  whom  she 
had  been  divorced,  the  man  who  had  ruined  her  social  life. 
Does  life  return  upon  its  steps?  She  remembered  the 
violent  joys  of  that  secret  love  which  had  ultimately  been 
thrown  down  in  the  dust  for  all  the  world  to  stare  at.  Was 
she  to  know  such  joys  again?  Was  it  possible  that  she 
could  know  them,  had  she  the  capacity*  to  know  them  after 
%11  she  had  passed  through  ? 

She  knew  she  had  that  capacity,  and  with  her  fear  was 


BELLA  DONNA  203 

mingled  a  sense  of  triumph;  for  she  felt  that  with  the 
years  the  capacity  within  her  for  that  which  to  her  was  joy 
had  not  diminished,  but  increased.  Ajid  this  sense  of 
increase  gave  her  a  vital  sense  of  youth.  Even  Nigel  had 
said,  * '  You  are  blossoming  here ! '  *  Even  he,  whom  she  had 
so  easily  and  so  completely  deceived,  had  seen  that  truth 
of  her  clearly. 

And  when  he  came  back  from  the  Fayyum  to  stay  agaia 
with  her,  or,  more  probably,  to  fetch  her  away  ? 

The  voices  that  had  come  to  her  from  far  away  on  the 
Nile  were  hushed.  The  night  at  last  had  imposed  herself 
on  the  singers,  and  they  had  sunk  down  to  sleep  under 
the  mantle  of  her  silence.  But  Mrs.  Armine  still  lay 
awake,  felt  as  if  the  cessation  of  the  singing  had  made  her 
less  capable  of  sleeping. 

When  Nigel  came  to  fetch  her  away  to  the  tent  in  the 
Fayyum,  what  then  ? 

She  would  not  think  about  that,  but  she  would  obey  her 
temperament.  She  had  two  weeks  of  freedom  before  her, 
she  who  had  had  so  many  years  of  freedom.  She  had  only 
two  weeks.  Then  she  would  use  them,  enjoy  them  to  the 
uttermost.  She  would  think  of  nothing  but  the  moment. 
She  would  squeeze,  squeeze  out  the  golden  juices  that  these 
moments  contained  which  lay  immediately  before  her. 
The  tent  in  the  Fayyum — perhaps  she  would  never  see  it, 
would  never  come  out  in  the  night  with  Nigel  to  hear  the 
Egyptian  Pan  by  the  water.  But — she  would  surely  hear 
Baroudi  sing  again  to-morrow,  she  would  surely,  to-morrow, 
watch  him  while  he  sang. 

She  put  her  arms  inside  the  bed,  and  feverishly  drew 
the  sheet  up  underneath  her  chin.  She  must  sleep,  or 
to-morrow  her  face  would  show  that  she  had  not  slept.  And 
Baroudi  stared  at  her  while  he  sang. 

Again  she  was  seized  by  fear. 


204  BELLA  DONNA 


XVIII 


Late  the  next  morning  there  awoke  with  Mrs.  Armine 
a  woman  who  for  a  time  had  lain  in  a  quiescence  almost 
like  that  of  death,  a  woman  who  years  ago  had  risked  ruin 
for  a  passion  more  physical  than  ideal,  who,  when  ruin 
actually  overtook  her,  had  let  the  ugly  side  of  her  nature 
run  free  with  a  loose  rein,  defiant  of  the  world. 

Only  when  she  awoke  to  that  new  day  did  she  fully 
realize  the  long  effort  she  had  been  making,  and  how  it 
had  tired  and  irritated  her  nerves  and  her  temperament. 
She  had  won  her  husband  by  playing  a  part,  and  ever  since 
she  had  won  him  she  had  gone  on  playing  a  part.  And 
this  acting  had  not  hitherto  seemed  to  her  very  difficult, 
although  there  had  been  moments  when  she  had  longed 
fiercely  to  show  herself  as  she  was.  But  now  that  she  had 
spent  some  hours  with  a  man  who  read  her  rightly,  and  who 
desired  of  her  no  moral  beauty,  no  strivings  after  virtue, 
no  bitter  regret  for  any  actions  of  the  past,  she  realized  the 
weight  of  the  yoke  she  had  been  bearing,  and  she  was  filled 
with  an  almost  angry  desire  for  compensation. 

She  felt  as  if  destiny  were  heavily  in  her  debt,  and  she 
was  resolved  that  the  debt  should  be  paid  to  the  uttermost 
farthing. 

Freed  from  the  restraint  of  her  husband's  presence, 
and  from  the  burden  of  his  perpetual  though  very  secret 
search  for  the  moral  rewards  she  could  never  give  him,  her 
whole  nature  seemed  violently  to  rebound.  During  the 
days  that  immediately  followed  she  sometimes  felt  more 
completely,  more  crudely,  herself  than  she  had  ever  felt 
before,  and  she  was  often  conscious  of  the  curious,  almost 
savage,  relief  that  the  West  sometimes  feels  when  brought 
into  close  touch  with  the  warm  and  the  subtle  barbarity  of 
the  East,  of  the  East  that  asks  no  questions,  that  has 
omitted  **Why?"  from  its  dictionary. 

Baroudi  was  as  totally  devoid  of  ordinary  scruples  as 
the  average  well-bred  Englishman  is  full  of  them.    He  had, 


BELLA  DONNA  206 

■no  doubt,  a  code  of  his  own  to  guide  his  conduct  towards 
his  co-religionists,  but  this  code  seemed  wholly  inoperative 
when  he  was  brought  into  relation  with  those  of  another 
race  and  faith. 

And  ]\Irs.  Armine  was  a  woman,  and  therefore,  in  his 
eyes,  on  a  lower  plane  than  himself. 

Among  the  attractions  which  he  possessed  for  Mrs. 
Armine,  certainly  not  the  least  was  his  lack  of  respect  for 
women  as  women.  It  is  usually  accepted  as  true  of  all 
women  that,  however  low  one  of  them  has  fallen,  she  pre- 
serves for  ever  within  her  a  secret  longing  to  be  respected 
by  man.  Whether  Mrs.  Armine  shared  this  secret  longing 
or  not,  one  thing  is  certain:  her  husband  had  respect  for 
her,  and  she  wore  his  respect  like  a  chain;  Baroudi  had 
not  respect  for  her,  and  she  wore  his  lack  of  respect  like  a 
flower. 

When  she  had  visited  the  Loulia,  reading,  as  women 
often  do,  the  character  of  a  man  in  the  things  hy  which  he 
has  deliberately  surrounded  himself,  Mrs.  Armine  had 
grasped  at  once  certain  realities  of  him  which,  in  his  inter- 
course with  her,  he  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal.  Mingled 
with  his  penetration,  his  easy  subtlety,  his  hard  lack  of 
scruple,  his  boldness  that  was  smooth,  and  polished,  and 
cool  as  bronze,  there  went  a  naive  crudity,  a  simplicity  like 
that  of  a  school-boy,  an  uncivilized  ingenuousness  which 
was  startling,  and  yet  attractive,  in  its  unexpectedness. 
The  man  who  had  bought  the  cuckoo-clocks  and  the  cheap 
vases,  who  had  set  the  gilded  ball  dancing  upon  the  water 
of  the  faskeeyeh,  who  had  broken  the  dim  harmony  of  the 
colours  in  his  resting-place  by  the  introduction  of  that 
orange  hue  which  seemed  to  reflect  certain  fierce  lights 
within  his  nature,  walked  hand-in-hand  with  the  shrewd 
money-maker,  the  determined  pleasure-seeker,  the  sensual 
dreamer,  the  acute  diplomatist.  The  combination  was 
piquant,  though  not  very  unusual  in  the  countries  of  the 
sun.  It  appealed  to  Mrs.  Armine 's  wayward  love  of  nov- 
elty, it  made  her  feel  that  despite  her  wide  experience  of 
life  in  relation  to  men  there  still  remained  terra  incognita 


206  BELLA  DONNA 

on  which  she  might  set  her  feet.  And  though  she  did  not 
care  particularly  for  children,  and  had  never  longed  to 
have  a  child  of  her  own,  she  knew  she  would  love  occasion- 
ally to  play  with  the  child  enclosed  in  this  man,  to  pet  it, 
to  laugh  at  it,  to  feel  superior  to  it,  to  feel  tender  over  it, 
as  the  hardest  woman  can  feel  tender  over  that  which  wakes 
in  her  woman's  dual  capacity  for  passion  and  for  mother- 
liness.  She  both  feared  Baroudi  and  smiled,  almost 
laughed,  at  him;  she  both  wondered  at  and  saw  through 
him.  At  one  moment  he  was  transparent  as  glass  to  her 
view,  at  another  he  confronted  her  like  rock  surrounded  by 
the  blackness  of  an  impenetrable  night.  And  he  never 
cared  whether  she  was  looking  through  the  glass  or  whether 
she  was  staring,  baffled,  at  the  rock. 

Never,  for  one  moment,  did  he  s^em  to  be  self-conscious 
when  he  was  with  her,  did  he  seem  to  be  anxious  about,  or 
even  attentive  to,  what  she  was  thinking  of  him.  And  the 
completeness  of  his  egoism  called  from  her  egoism  respect, 
as  she  was  forced  to  realize  that  he  possessed  certain  of  her 
own  qualities,  but  exaggerated,  made  portentous,  brilliant, 
mysterious,  by  something  in  his  temperament  which  had 
been  left  out  of  hers,  something  perhaps  racial  which  must 
be  for  ever  denied  to  her. 

Each  day  Hamza,  the  praying  donkey-boy,  awaited  her 
at  some  point  fixed  beforehand  on  the  western  side  of  the 
river,  and  Ibrahim  escorted  her  there  in  the  felucca,  smiling 
gently  like  an  altruistic  child,  and  holding  a  rose  between 
his  teeth. 

Far  up  the  river  the  Loulia  was  moored,  between 
Baroudi  *s  orange-gardens  and  Armant,  and  each  day  he 
dropped  down  the  Nile  in  his  white  boat  to  meet  the  Euro- 
pean woman,  bringing  only  one  attendant  with  him,  a  huge 
Nubian  called  A'iyoub.  The  tourists  who  come  to  Luxor 
seldom  go  far  from  certain  fixed  points.  Their  days  are 
spent  either  floating  upon  the  river  within  sight  of  the 
village  and  of  Thebes,  among  the  temples  and  tombs  on  the 
western  bank,  or  at  Karnak,  the  temple  of  Luxor,  in  the 
antiquity  shops,  or  in  the  shade  of  the  palm-groves  imme- 
diately around  the  brown  houses  of  Karnak  and  the  minar* 


BELLA  DONNA  207 

tts  of  Luxor.  Go  to  the  north  beyond  Kurna,  to  the  south 
beyond  Madinat-Habu,  or  to  the  east  to  the  edge  of  the 
mountains  that  fringe  the  Arabian  desert,  and  a  man  ia 
beyond  their  ken  and  the  clamour  of  their  gossip.  Baroudi 
and  Mrs.  Armine  met  in  the  territory  to  the  south,  once 
again  among  the  mountains,  then  in  the  plain,  presently 
under  the  flickering  shade  of  orange-trees  neatly  planted  in 
serried  rows  and  accurately  espaced. 

When  she  started  in  the  morning  from  the  river-bank 
below  the  garden,  Mrs.  Armine  did  not  ask  where  she  was 
going  of  Ibrahim;  when  she  got  upon  her  donkey  did  not 
put  any  question  to  Ilamza.  She  just  gave  herself  without 
a  word  into  the  hands  of  these  two,  let  them  take  her,  as 
on  that  first  day  of  her  freedom,  where  they  had  been  told, 
where  they  had  been  paid  to  take  her.  As  on  that  first  day 
of  her  freedom !  Soon  she  was  to  ask  herself  whether  part 
of  the  creed  of  Islam  was  not  true  for  those  beyond  its 
borders,  whether,  till  the  sounding  of  the  trumpet  by  the 
angel  Asrafil,  each  living  being  was  not  confined  in  the 
prison  of  the  fate  predestined  for  it.  But,  able  to  be  short- 
sighted sometimes,  although  already  in  the  dark  moments 
of  the  night  far-sighted  and  afraid,  she  had  now  often  the 
sensation  of  an  untrammelled  liberty,  realizing  the  spaces 
that  lay  between  her  and  the  Fayyum,  seeing  no  longer  the 
eyes  that  asked  gifts  of  her,  hearing  no  longer  the  voice 
that  pleaded  for  graces  in  her,  that  she  could  never  make, 
could  never  display,  though  she  might  pretend  to  display 
them. 

And  so  she  sometimes  hugged  to  her  breast  the 
spectre  of  perfect  liberty  in  the  radiant,  unclouded  morn- 
ings when  Ibrahim  came  to  tell  her  it  was  time  to  start, 
and  she  heard  the  low  chaunt  of  the  boatmen  in  the 
felucca.  If  her  fate  were  being  bound  about  her  neck, 
there  were  moments  when  she  did  not  fully  realize  it, 
when  she  was  informed  by  a  light  and  a  heady  sensation 
of  strength  and  of  youth,  when  she  thought  of  the  woman 
who  had  sat  one  day  in  Meyer  Isaacson's  consulting- 
room  as  of  a  weary  stranger  with  whom  she  had  no  more 
to  do. 


508  BELLA  DONNA 

But  though  Mrs.  Amine  had  moments  of  exultation  in 
these  days,  which  she  often  told  herself  were  her  days  of 
liberty,  she  had  also  many  moments  of  apprehension,  of 
depression^  of  wonder  about  the  future,  moments  that  were 
more  frequent  as  she  began  more  fully  to  realize  the  truth 
of  her  nature  now  fiercely  revealing  itself. 

She  had  never  supposed  that  within  her  there  still 
remained  so  strong  a  capacity  for  feeling.  She  had 
never  supposed  it  possible  that  she  could  really  care  for 
a  man  again — care,  that  is,  with  ardour,  with  the  force 
that  brings  in  its  train  uneasiness  and  the  cruel  desire 
to  monopolize,  to  assert  oneself,  to  take  possession,  not 
because  of  feminine  vanity  or  feminine  greed,  but  because 
of  something  lodged  far  deeper  among  the  very  springs 
of  the  temperament.  She  had  never  imagined  that,  at 
this  probably  midmost  epoch  of  her  life,  there  could  be 
within  her  such  a  resurrection  as  that  which  soon  she 
began  to  be  anxiously  aware  of.  The  weariness,  the  almost 
stagnant  calm  that  had,  not  seldom,  beset  her — ^they  sank 
down  suddenly  like  things  falling  into  a  measureless  gulf. 
Body  and  mind  bristled  with  an  alertness  that  was  not  free 
from  fever. 

She  said  to  herself  sometimes,  tr}^ing  to  play  false 
even  with  herself,  that  the  blame,  or  at  least  the  responsi- 
bility, for  this  change  must  be  laid  on  the  shoulders  of 
Egypt. 

And  then  she  looked,  perhaps,  at  the  mighty  shoulders 
of  Baroudi.  And  he  saw  the  look,  and  understood  her 
better  than  she  just  then  chose  to  say  to  herself  that  she 
understood  herself. 

And  yet  for  many  years  she  had  not  been  a  woman  who 
had  tried  to  play  tricks  with  her  own  soul.  This  man  was 
to  have  an  effect  not  only  upon  the  physical  part  of 
her,  but  also  upon  that  in  her  which  would  not  re- 
spond to  tender  attempts  at  influencing  it  towards  good- 
ness or  any  lofty  morality,  but  which  existed,  a  vital  spark, 
incorporeal,  the  strange  and  wonderful  thing  in  the  cage  of 
her  ardent  flesh. 


BELLA  DONNA  209! 

And  Mahmoud  Baroudi?  Was  there  any  drama  being 
acted  behind  the  strong,  but  enigmatic,  exterior  which  he 
offered  to  the  examination  of  the  world  and  of  this  woman  ? 

Mrs.  Armine  sometimes  wondered,  and  could  not  deter- 
mine. She  knew  really  little  of  him,  for  though  he  seemed 
often  to  be  very  carelessly  displaying  himself  exactly  as 
he  was,  at  the  close  of  each  interview  she  went  back  to  the 
villa  with  a  mind  not  yet  emptied  of  questions.  She  was 
often  strangely  at  ease  with  him  because  he  did  not  ask 
from  her  that  which  she  could  not  give,  and  therefore  she 
could  be  herself  when  with  him.  But  the  Eastern  man  does 
not  pour  confidences  into  the  ear  of  the  Western  woman, 
nor  are  the  workings  of  his  mind  like  the  workings  of  the 
mind  of  a  Western  man.  Never  till  now  had  Mrs.  Armine 
known  a  secret  intimacy,  or  any  intimacy,  like  this,  pro- 
cured by  bribery,  and  surely  hastening  to  a  swift  and 
decisive  ending. 

Upon  the  Hohenzollern  Baroudi*  must  have  laid  his 
plans  to  see  her  as  he  was  seeing  her  now.  He  did  not  tell 
her  so,  but  she  knew  it.  Had  she  not  known  it  upon  ship- 
board? In  their  exchange  of  glances  how  much  had  been 
said  and  answered? 

Despite  her  life  of  knowledge,  she  said  to  herself  now 
that  she  did  not  know.  And  there  was  much  in  Baroudi 's 
mind,  even  in  connection  with  herself,  that  she  could  not 
possibly  know. 

Something  about  him,  nevertheless,  she  was  able  to  find 
out. 

Baroudi 's  father  was  a  rich  Turco-Egyptian.  His 
mother  had  been  a  beautiful  Greek  girl,  who  had  embraced 
Islam  when  his  father  fell  in  love  with  her  and  proposed  to 
marry  her.  She  assumed  the  burko,  and  vanished  from 
the  world  into  the  harim.  And  in  the  harim  she  had 
eventually  died,  leaving  this  only  son  behind  her. 

The  Turco-Egyptians  are  as  a  rule  more  virile,  more 

active,  more  dominant,  and  perhaps  more  greedy  than  are 

the  pure-bred  Egyptians.     In  the  days  before  the  English 

protectorate  they  held  many  important  positions  among  the 

14 


210  BELLA  DONNA 

ruling  classes  of  Egypt.  They  lined  their  pockets  well, 
plundering  those  in  their  power  with  the  ruthlessness  char- 
acteristic of  the  Oriental  character.  The  English  came  and 
put  a  stop  to  their  nefarious  money-making.  And  even 
to-day  love  of  the  Englishman  is  far  less  common  than 
hatred  in  the  heart  of  a  Turco-Egyptian.  In  the  Turco- 
Egyptian  nature  there  is,  nevertheless,  not  seldom  some- 
thing that  is  more  nearly  akin  to  the  typical  Englishman's 
nature  than  could  be  found  in  the  pure-bred  Egyptian. 
And  possibly  because  he  sometimes  sees  in  the  Englishman 
what — but  for  certain  Oriental  characteristics  that  hold 
him  back — ^he  might  almost  become  himself,  the  Turco- 
Egyptian  often  nourishes  a  peculiar  venom  against  him. 
Men  may  hate  because  of  ignorance,  but  they  may  hate  also 
because  of  understanding. 

Baroudi  had  been  brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  of 
Anglophobia.  His  father,  though  very  rich,  had  lost  place 
and  power  through  the  English.  He  had  once  had  the 
upper  hand  with  many  of  his  countrymen.  He  had  the 
upper  hand  no  longer,  would  never  have  it  again.  The 
opportunity  to  plunder  had  been  quietly  taken  from  him 
by  the  men  who  wore  the  helmet  instead  of  the  tarbush, 
and  who,  while  acknowledging  that  there  is  no  god  but 
God,  deny  that  IMohammed  was  the  Prophet  of  God.  He 
hated  the  English,  and  he  taught  his  half-Greek  son  to 
hate  them,  but  never  noisily  or  ostentatiously.  And 
Baroudi  learnt  the  lesson  of  his  father  quickly  and  very 
thoroughly.  He  grew  up  hating  the  English,  and  yet, 
paradoxically,  developing  a  nature  in  which  were  certain 
characteristics,  certain  aptitudes,  certain  affections  shared 
by  the  English. 

He  was  no  lethargic  Eastern,  unpractical,  though 
deviously  subtle,  taking  no  thought  for  the  morrow,  use- 
lessly imaginative,  submissive,  ready  to  cringe  genuinely 
to  authority,  then  turn  and  kick  the  man  below  him.  He 
was  no  stagnant  pool  with  only  the  iridescent  lights  of 
corruption  upon  it.  Almost  in  the  English  sense  he  was 
thoroughly  manly.     He  had  the  true  instinct  for  sport, 


BELLA  DONNA  211 

the  true  ability  of  the  thorough  sportsman.  He  was  active. 
Tie  had  within  him  the  faculty  to  command,  to  adminis- 
trate, to  organize.  He  had,  like  the  Englishman,  the 
assiduity  that  brings  a  work  undertaken  to  a  successful 
close.  He  had  will  as  well  as  cunning,  persistence  as  well 
as  penetration.  From  his  father  he  had  inherited  instincts 
of  a  conquering  race — therefore  akin  to  English  instincts; 
from  his  mother,  who  had  sprung  from  the  lower  classes, 
that  extraordinary  acquisitive  faculty,  that  almost  limitless 
energy,  regardless  of  hardship,  in  the  pursuit  of  gain  which 
is  characteristic  of  the  modern  Greek  in  Egy^t. 

But  he  had  also  within  him  a  secret  fanaticism  that  was 
very  old,  a  fatalism,  obscure,  and  cruel,  and  strange,  a 
lack  of  scruple  that  would  have  revolted  almost  any  Eng- 
lishman who  could  have  understood  it,  an  occasional  child- 
ishness, rather  Egyptian  than  Turco-Egyptian,  and  a  quick 
and  instinctive  subtlety  that  came  from  no  sunless  land. 

He  prayed,  and  was  a  sensualist.  He  fasted,  and  loved 
luxury.  He  could  control  his  appetites,  and  fling  self- 
control  to  the  winds.  But  in  all  that  he  did  and  left  undone 
there  was  the  diligent  spirit  at  work  of  the  man  who  can 
persevere,  in  renunciation  even  as  in  pursuit.  And  that 
presence  of  the  diligent  spirit  made  him  a  strong  man. 

That  he  was  a  strong  man,  with  a  strength  not  merely 
physical,  Mrs.  Armine  swiftly  realized.  He  told  her  of  his 
father  and  mother,  but  he  did  not  tell  her  of  the  atmos- 
phere in  which  he  had  been  brought  up.  He  told  her  of  his 
father's  large  fortune  and  wide  lands,  of  his  own  schemes, 
what  they  had  brought  him,  what  they  would  probably 
bring  him  in  the  future ;  of  certain  marvellous  coups  which 
he  had  made  by  selling  bits  of  land  he  had  possessed  in  the 
environs  of  Cairo  when  the  building  craze  was  at  its  height 
during  the  **boom"  of  1906.  But  he  did  not^tell  her  of  a 
governing  factoi*  in  his  life — his  secret  hatred  of  the  Eng- 
lish, originally  implanted  in  him  by  his  father,  and  nour- 
ished by  certain  incidents  that  had  occurred  in  his  own 
experience.  He  did  not  tell  her,  in  more  ample  detail,  what 
he  had  already  hinted  at  on  the  evening  when  Nigel  had 


212  BELLA  DONNA 

brought  him  to  the  villa,  how  certain  Egyptians  love  to 
gratify  not  merely  their  vanity  and  their  sensuality,  but 
also  their  secret  loathing  of  their  masters,  by  betraying 
those  masters  in  the  most  cruel  way  when  the  opportunity 
is  offered  to  them.  He  did  not  tell  her  that  since  he  had 
been  almost  a  boyi — quite  a  boy  according  to  English  ideas 
— ^he,  like  a  good  many  of  his  smart,  semi-cultured,  self- 
possessed,  and  physically  attractive  young  contemporaries, 
had  gloried  in  his  triumphs  among  the  Occidental  women 
who  come  in  crowds  to  spend  the  winters  in  Cairo  and  upon 
the  Nile,  had  gloried  still  more  in  the  thought  that  with 
every  triumph  he  struck  a  blow  at  the  Western  man  who 
thought  him  a  child,  unfit  to  rule,  who  ruled  him  for  his 
own  benefit,  and  who  very  quietly  despised  him. 

Perhaps  he  feared  lest  Mrs.  Armine  might  guess  at  a 
bitter  truth  of  his  nature,  and  shrink  from  him,  despite  the 
powerful  attraction  he  possessed  for  her,  despite  her  own 
freedom  from  scruple,  her  own  ironic  and  even  cruel  out- 
look upon  the  average  man. 

In  any  case  he  was  silent,  and  she  almost  forgot  the 
shadow  of  his  truth,  which  had  risen  out  of  the  depths  and 
stood  before  her  on  the  terraces  of  the  Villa  Androud.  Had 
she  remembered  it  now,  it  might  have  rendered  her  uneasy, 
but  it  could  not  have  recalled  her  from  the  path  down 
which  she  was  just  beginning  to  go.  For  her  life  had 
blunted  her,  had  coarsened  her  nature.  She  had  followed 
too  many  ignoble  impulses,  has  succumbed  too  often  to 
whim,  to  be  the  happy  slave  of  delicacy,  or  to  allow  any 
sense  of  patriotism  to  keep  her  hand  in  virtue's. 

She  told  herself  that  when  Baroudi's  eyes  had  spoken 
to  her  on  the  Hohenzollern  they  had  spoken  in  reply  to  the 
summons  of  her  beauty,  and  for  no  other  reason.  What 
else  could  such  a  woman  think?  And  yet  there  were 
moments  when  feminine  intuition  sought  for  another 
reason,  and,  not  finding  it,  went  hungry. 

Baroudi  had  no  need  to  seek  for  more  reasons  in  her 
than  jumped  to  his  eyes.  Ever  since  he  had  been  sixteen 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  the  effect  that  his  assurance 


BELLA  DONNA  213 

combined  with  his  remarkable  physique,  had  upon  Western 
women. 

And  so  each  day  Ibrahim  and  Hamza  brought  this 
Western  woman  to  the  place  he  had  appointed,  and  always 
he  was  there  before  her. 

Baroudi  loved  secrecy,  and  Mrs.  Armine  had  nothing 
to  fear  at  present  from  indiscretion  of  his.  And  she  had 
no  fear  of  that  kind  in  connection  with  him. 

But  there  were  envious  eyes  in  the  villa — eyes  which 
watched  her  go  each  morning,  which  greeted  her  on  her 
return  at  sundown  with  a  searching  light  of  curiosity.  For 
years  she  had  not  been  obliged  to  care  what  her  maid 
thought  about  her.  But  now  she  had  to  care.  Obligations 
swarm  in  the  w^ake  of  marriage.  Marie  knew  nothing,  had 
really  no  special  reason  to  suspect  anything,  but,  because 
of  her  mistress's  personality,  suspected  all  that  a  sharp 
French  girl  with  a  knowledge  of  Paris  can  suspect.  And 
while  Mrs.  Armine  trusted  in  the  wickedness  of  Ibrahim 
and  Hamza,  she  did  not  trust  in  the  wickedness  of  Marie. 

The  Loulia  had  vanished  from  Luxor  with  its  master. 
Mrs.  Armine,  left  alone  for  a  little  while,  naturally  spent 
her  time,  like  all  other  travellers  upon  the  Nile,  in  sight- 
seeing. She  lunched  out,  as  almost  every  one  else  did. 
There  was  no  cause  for  Marie  to  be  suspicious. 

Yes,  there  was  a  cause — what  Mrs.  Armine  was,  and  waa 
actually  doing.  Truth  often  manifests  itself,  how  no  one 
can  say,  not  even  she  who  sees  it.  Mrs.  Armine  knew  this 
at  evening  when  she  saw  her  maid's  eyes,  and  she  wished 
she  had  brought  with  her  an  unintelligent  English  maid. 

And  then,  from  the  Fayyum,  a  shadow  fell  over  her — 
the  shadow  of  her  husband. 

Eight  days  after  her  meeting  with  Baroudi  among  the 
flame-coloured  rocks  she  was  taken  by  Ibrahim  and  Hamza 
to  the  orange-gardens  up  the  river  which  Baroudi  had  men- 
tioned to  Nigel.  They  lay  on  the  western  bank  of  the 
Nile,  between  Luxor  and  Arm  ant,  and  at  a  considerable 
distance  from  Luxor.  But  it  chanced  that  the  wind  was 
fair,  and  blew  with  an  unusual  briskness  from  the  north. 


214  BELLA  DONNA 

The  sailors  set  the  great  lateen  sails  of  the  felucca,  which 
bellied  out  like  things  leaping  into  life.  The  greenish- 
brown  water  curled  and  whispered  about  the  prow,  and  the 
minarets  of  Luxor  seemed  to  retreat  swiftly  from  Mrs. 
Armine's  eyes,  as  if  hastening  from  her  with  the  desire  to 
be  lost  among  the  palm-trees.  As  the  boat  drew  on  and  on, 
and  reach  after  reach  of  the  river  was  left  behind,  she 
began  to  wonder  about  this  expedition. 

* '  Where  are  w^e  going  ?  * '  she  asked  of  Ibrahim. 

"To  a  noo  place,*'  he  answered,  composedly.  **To  a 
very  pretty  place,  a  very  nice  place. ' ' 

**We  must  not  go  too  far,*'  she  said,  rather  doubtfully. 
*  *  I  must  not  be  very  late  in  getting  back. ' ' 

She  was  thinking  at  the  moment  angrily  of  Marie.  If 
only  Marie  were  not  in  the  Villa  Androud !  She  had  no  fear 
of  the  Nubian  servants.  They  were  all  devoted  to  her. 
Already  she  had  begun  to  consider  them  as  her — not  Nigel's 
■ — ^black  slaves.  But  that  horrid  little  intelligent,  untrust- 
worthy French  girl 

*'I  have  tell  the  French  mees  we  are  goin'  to  see  a 
temple  in  the  mountains — a  temple  that  is  wonderful  in- 
deed, all  f uU  of  Rameses.    I  have  tell  her  w^e  may  be  late. ' ' 

Mrs.  Armine  looked  sharply  into  the  boy's  gentle,  shin- 
ing eyes. 

*'Yes;  but  we  must  be  back  in  good  time,"  she  said. 

And  her  whole  nature,  accustomed  to  the  liberty  that 
lies  outside  the  pale,  chafed  against  this  small  obligation. 
Suddenly  she  came  to  a  resolve.  She  would  get  rid  of 
Marie — send  her  back  to  Europe.  How  was  she  to  manage 
without  a  maid?  She  could  not  imagine,  and  at  this 
moment  she  did  not  care.  She  would  get  rid  of  Marie 
and Suddenly  a  smile  came  to  her  lips. 

**Why  do  you  larf  ?"  asked  Ibrahim. 

"Because  it  is  so  fine,  because  I'm  happy,"  she  said. 

Really  she  had  smiled  at  the  thought  of  her  explanation 
to  Nigel:  "I  don't  want  a  maid  here.  I  want  to  learn  to 
be  simple,  to  do  things  for  myself.  And  how  could  I  take 
her  to  the  Fayyum?" 


BELLA  DONNA  21$ 

Nigel  would  be  delighted. 

And  the  Fayyum  without  a  maid  ?  But  she  turned  her 
mind  resolutely  away  from  that  thought.  She  would  live 
for  the  day — this  day  on  the  Nile.  She  leaned  over  the 
gunwale  of  the  boat,  and  she  gazed  towards  the  south  across 
the  great  flood  that  was  shining  in  the  gold  of  the  sunshine. 
And  as  she  gazed  the  boat  went  about,  and  presently  drew 
in  towards  the  shore.  And  upon  the  top  of  a  high  brown 
bank,  where  naked  brown  men  were  bending  and  singing 
by  a  shaduf,  she  saw  the  long  ears  of  a  waiting  donkey, 
and  then  a  straight  white  robe,  and  a  silhouette  like  a 
^^Ihouette  of  bronze,  and  a  wand  pointing  towards  the  sun. 

Hamza  was  waiting  for  her,  was  waiting — like  a  Fate. 


XIX 

Mrs.  Armine  rode  slowly  along  the  river-bank.  Hamza 
did  not  turn  the  head  of  the  donkey  towards  the  Libyan 
mountains.  The  tombs  and  the  temples  of  Thebes  were  far 
away.  She  wondered  where  she  was  being  taken,  but  she 
did  not  ask  again.  She  enjoyed  this  new  sensation  of  being 
governed  from  a  distance,  and  she  remembered  her  effort  of 
the  imagination  when  she  was  shut  up  in  the  scented  dark- 
ness of  the  Loulia.  She  had  imagined  herself  a  slave,  as 
Eastern  wives  are  slaves.  Now  she  glanced  at  Ibrahim  and 
Hamza,  and  she  thought  of  the  eunuchs  who  often  accom- 
pany Eastern  women  of  the  highest  rank  when  they  go  out 
veiled  into  the  world.  And  she  touched  her  floating  veil 
and  smiled,  as  she  played  with  her  vagrant  thoughts. 

This  Egyptian  life  was  sharp  with  the  spice  of  novelty. 

Before  her,  at  a  short  distance,  she  saw  a  great  green 
dusk  of  trees  spreading  from  the  river-bank  inland,  sharply 
defined,  with  no  ragged  edges — a  dusk  that  had  been 
planned  by  man,  not  left  to  Nature's  dealings.  This  was 
not  a  feathery  dusk  of  palm-trees.  She  looked  steadily, 
and  knew. 


216  BELLA  DONNA 

''Mahmoud  Baroudi's  orange-gardens!"  she  said  to 
Ibrahim. 

''Suttinly!"  he  replied. 

He  looked  towards  them,  and  added,  after  a  pause: 

**They  are  most  beautiful,  indeed." 

Then  he  spoke  quickly  in  Arabic  to  Hamza.  Hamza 
replied  with  volubility.  When  he  talked  with  his  own 
people  he  seemed  to  become  another  being.  His  almost 
cruel  calm  of  a  bronze  vanished.  His  face  lit  up  wdth 
expression.  A  various  life  broke  from  him,  like  a  stream 
suddenly  released.  But  if  Mrs.  Armine  spoke  to  him, 
instantly  his  rigid  calm  returned.  He  answered  *'Yes," 
and  his  almond-shaped  eyes  became  impenetrable. 

* '  What  are  they  really  ? ' '  she  thought  now,  as  she  heard 
them  talking. 

She  could  not  tell,  but  at  least  there  was  in  this  air  a 
scent  of  spices,  a  sharp  and  aromatic  savour.  And  she 
had  been — perhaps  would  be  again — a  reckless  woman.  She 
loved  the  aromatic  savour.  It  made  her  feel  as  if,  despite 
her  many  experiences,  she  had  lived  till  now  perpetually  in 
a  groove ;  as  if  she  had  known  far  less  of  life  than  she  had 
hitherto  supposed. 

They  gained  the  edge  of  the  orange-grove,  passed 
between  it  and  the  Nile,  and  came  presently  to  a  broad 
earth-track,  which  led  to  the  right.  Along  this  they 
went,  and  reached  a  house  that  stood  in  the  very  midst 
of  the  grove,  in  a  delicious  solitude,  a  very  delicate 
calm.  From  about  it  on  every  hand  stretched  away 
the  precisely  ordered  rows  of  small,  umbrageous,  already 
fruit-bearing  trees,  not  tall,  with  narrow  stems,  forked 
branches,  shining  leaves,  among  which  the  round  balL^, 
some  green,  some  in  the  way  of  becoming  gold,  a 
few  already  gold,  hung  in  masses  that  looked  artificial 
because  so  curiously  decorative.  The  breeze  that  had  filled 
the  sails  of  the  felucca  had  either  died  down  or  was  the 
possession  of  the  river.  For  here  stillness  reigned.  In  a 
warm  silence  the  fruit  was  ripening  to  bring  gold  to  the 
pockets  of  Baroudi.  The  wrinkled  earth  beneath  the  trees 
was  a  dark  grey  in  the  shade,  a  warmer  hue,  in  which  pale 


IP^' 


BELLA  DONNA  217 

brown  and  an  earthy  yellow  were  mingled,  where  the  sun- 
light lay  upon  it. 

Mrs.  Armine  got  down  before  the  house,  which  was 
painted  a  very  faint  pink,  through  which  white  seemed  try- 
ing to  break.  It  had  only  one  storey.  A  door  of  palm-wood 
in  the  facade  was  approached  by  two  short  flights  of  steps, 
descending  on  the  right  and  left  of  a  small  terrace.  At  this 
door  Baroudi  now  appeared,  dressed  in  a  suit  of  flannel, 
wearing  the  tarbush,  and  holding  in  his  hand  a  great  palm- 
leaf  fan.  Hamza  led  away  the  donkey,  going  round  to  the 
back  of  the  house.  Ibrahim  followed  him.  Mrs.  Armine 
went  slowly  up  the  steps  and  joined  Baroudi  on  the  terrace. 

He  did  not  speak,  and  she  stood  by  his  side  in  silence 
for  a  moment,  looking  into  the  orange-grove.  The  world 
seemed  planted  with  the  beautiful  little  trees,  the  almost 
meretricious,  carefully  nurtured,  and  pampered  belles  of 
their  tribe.  And  their  aspect  of  artificiality,  completely — 
indeed,  quite  Tvonderfully — effective,  gave  a  thrill  of  pleas- 
ure to  something  within  her.  They  were  like  trees  that 
were  perfectly  dressed.  Since  the  day  when  she  first  met 
Baroudi  in  the  mountains  she  had  resumed  her  practice 
of  making  up  her  face.  Marie  might  be  wrong,  although 
Baroudi  was  not  a  Frenchman.  To-day  Mrs.  Armine  was 
very  glad  that  she  had  not  trusted  completely  to  Nature. 
In  the  midst  of  these  orange-trees  she  felt  in  place,  and 
now  she  lifted  her  veil  and  she  spoke  to  Baroudi. 

' '  What  do  you  call  this  ?    Has  it  a  name  ? ' ' 

''It  is  the  Villa  Nuit  d'Or.  I  use  the  word  'villa'  m 
the  Italian  sense." 

' '  Oh,  of  course.    Night  of  gold.    Why  night  ? ' ' 

"The  trees  make  a  sort  of  darkness  round  the  house." 

"The  gold  I  understand." 

"Yes,  you  understand  gold." 

He  stared  at  her  and  smiled. 

"You  understand  it  as  well  as  I  do,  but  perhaps  in  a 
different  way,"  he  said. 

I   suppose  we   understand   most  things   in   different 
ays." 

They  spoke  in  French.     They    always  spoke  French 


218  BELLA  DONNA 

together  now.  And  IMrs.  Armine  preferred  this.  Some- 
how she  did  not  care  so  much  for  this  man  translated  intc 
English.  She  wished  she  could  communicate  with  him  in 
Arabic,  but  she  was  too  lazy  to  try  to  learn. 

''Don't  you  think  so?"  she  added. 

*'I  think  my  way  of  understanding  you  is  better  than 
Mr.  Armeen's  way,"  he  answered,  calmly. 

He  lit  a  cigarette. 

''What  is  your  way  of  understanding  me,  I  do  not 
know,"  he  added. 

"Do  I  understand  you  at  all?"  she  said.  *'Do  you  wish 
me  to  understand  you  ? '  ^ 

Suddenly  she  seemed  to  be  confronted  by  the  rock,  and 
a  sharp  irritation  invaded  her.  It  was  followed  by  a  feeling 
colder  and  very  determined.  The  long  day  was  before  her. 
She  was  in  a  very  perfect  isolation  with  this  man.  She  was 
a  woman  who  had  for  years  made  it  her  business  to  under- 
stand men.  By  understanding  them — for  what  is  beauty 
without  any  handmaid  of  brains? — she  had  gained  for- 
tunes, and  squandered  them.  By  understanding  them, 
when  a  critical  moment  had  come  in  her  life,  she  had  se- 
cured for  herself  a  husband.  It  was  absurd  that  a  m.an, 
who  was  at  least  half  child — she  thought  of  the  cuckoo- 
clocks,  the  gilded  dancing-ball — should  baffle  her.  If  only 
she  called  upon  her  powers,  she  must  be  able  to  turn  him 
inside  out  like  one  of  her  long  gloves.  She  would  do  it 
to-day.  And  before  he  had  replied  to  her  question  she  had 
left  it. 

**Who  cares  for  such  things  on  the  Nile?'*  she  said. 

She  laughed. 

"At  least,  what  Western  woman  can  care?  I  do  not, 
I  am  too  drunk  with  your  sun." 

She  sent  him  a  look. 

"Is  it  to  be  in — or  out?"  she  asked.  "The  house  or 
the  orange-gardens?" 

"Which  you  wish." 

But  his  movement  was  outwards,  and  she  seconded  it 
with  hers. 


BELLA  DONNA  219 

As  they  went  down  the  steps  the  lond  voice  of  a  shaduf 
man  came  to  them  from  some  distant  place  by  the  Nile, 
reminding  her  of  the  great  river  which  seemed  ever  to  be 
flowing  through  her  Egyptian  life,  reminding  her  of  the 
narrowness  of  Upper  Egypt,  a  corridor  between  the  moun- 
tains of  Libya  and  of  the  Arabian  desert.  She  stood  still 
at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  to  listen.  There  was  a  pause. 
Then  the  fierce  voice  was  lifted  again,  came  to  them  vio- 
lently through  the  ordered  alleys  of  lovely  little  trees. 
The  first  time  she  had  ever  seen  the  man  with  whom  she 
had  been  divorced  was  at  the  opera  in  London.  She  remem- 
bered now  that  the  opera  on  that  night  of  fate  had  been 
"Aida,"  with  its  cries  of  the  East,  with  its  scenes  beside 
the  Nile.  And  for  a  moment  it  seemed  to  her  that  the 
hidden  Egyptian  who  was  working  the  shaduf  was  calling 
to  them  from  a  stage,  that  this  garden  of  oranges  was  only 
a  wonderful  decor.  But  the  illusion  was  too  perfect  for 
the  stage.  Keality  broke  in  with  its  rough,  tremendous 
touch  that  cannot  be  gainsaid,  and  she  walked  on  in  some- 
thing that  had  a  strangeness  of  truth — that  naked  wonder, 
and  sometimes  terror — more  strange  than  that  to  be  foiuid 
in  the  most  compelling  art. 

And  yet  she  was  walking  in  the  Villa  Nuit  d'Or,  a  name 
evidently  given  to  his  property  by  the  child  of  the  gilded 
ball,  a  name  that  might  be  in  place,  surely,  on  the  most 
stagey  stage.  She  knew  that,  felt  it,  smiled  at  it — and  yet 
mentally  caressed  the  name,  caressed  the  thing  in  Baroudi 
which  had  sought  and  found  it  appropriate. 

*'What  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  orange-trees  1  We 
are  losing  ourselves  in  them, ' '  she  said. 

The  little  house  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  trees. 

''Where  are  we  going?"  she  added. 

"Wait  a  moment  and  you  will  see." 

He  walked  on  slowly,  with  his  easy,  determined  gait, 
which,  in  its  lightness,  denoted  a  strength  that  had  been 
trained. 

''Now  to  the  right." 

He  was  walking  on  her  left.  She  obeyed  his  direction, 
and,  turning  towards  the  Nile,  saw  before  her  a  high  arbour 


220  BELLA  DONNA 

made  of  bamboo  and  encircled  by  a  hedge  of  wild  geranium. 
Its  opening  was  towards  the  Nile,  and  when  she  entered  it 
she  perceived,  far  off,  at  the  end  of  a  long  alley  of  orange- 
trees,  the  uneven  line  of  the  bank.  Just  where  she  saw  it 
the  ground  had  crumbled,  the  line  wavered,  and  was  de- 
pressed, and  though  the  water  was  not  visible  the  high 
lateen  sails  of  the  native  boats,  going  southward  in  the  sun, 
showed  themselves  to  her  strangely  behind  the  fretwork  of 
the  leaves.  At  her  approach  a  hoopoo  rose  and  flew  away 
above  the  trees.    Somewhere  a  lark  was  singing. 

In  the  arbour  was  spread  an  exquisite  prayer-rug,  and 
for  her  there  was  a  low  chair,  with  a  cushion  before  it  for 
her  feet.  On  a  table  was  Turkish  coffee.  In  silver  boxes 
were  cigarettes,  matches,  soft  sweetmeats  shrouded  in 
powdered  sugar,  through  which  they  showed  rose-colour, 
amber,  and  emerald  green.  At  the  edge  of  the  table,  close 
to  the  place  where  the  chair  was  set,  there  was  a  pretty  case 
of  gilded  silver,  the  top  of  which  was  made  of  looking-glass. 
She  took  it  up  at  once. 

''What  is  in  this?''  she  said. 

He  opened  the  case,  and  showed  her  gravely  a  powder- 
puff,  powder,  kohl,  with  a  tiny  blunt  instrument  of  ivory 
used  in  Egypt  for  its  appliance,  a  glass  bottle  of  rose-water, 
paste  of  henna,  of  smoke-black  with  oil  and  quick-lime,  and 
other  preparations  commonly  used  in  the  East  for  the 
decoration  of  women.  She  examined  them  curiously  and 
minutely,  then  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled,  thinking  of 
Nigel's  gentle  but  ardent  protest.  Yes,  she  could  be 
strangely  at  home  with  Baroudi.  But — now  to  turn  inside 
out  that  long  glove. 

She  sat  down  and  put  her  feet  on  the  cushion.  Baroudi 
was  instantly  cross-legged  on  the  rug.  Dressed  as  he  was, 
in  European  clothes,  he  ought  to  have  looked  awkward, 
even  ridiculous.  She  said  so  to  herself  as  she  gazed  down 
on  him;  and  she  knew  that  he  was  in  the  perfectly  right 
posture,  comfortable,  at  his  ease,  even — somehow — graceful. 
And,  as  she  knew  it,  she  felt  the  mystery  of  his  body  of  the 
East  as  sometimes  she  had  felt  the  mystery  of  his  mind. 

''Will  you  take  coffee  after  your  ride?"  he  said. 


BELLA  DONNA  221 

**Yes.  Don't  get  up.  I  will  pour  it  out,  and  give  you 
yours.-' 

She  did  so,  with  the  smiling  grace  that  had  affected 
Nigel,  had  even  affected  ]\Ieyer  Isaacson.  She  put  up  her 
veil,  lifted  the  gilded  case,  looked  at  herself  in  the  mirror 
steadily,  critically,  took  the  powder-puff  and  deftly  used  it. 
She  knew  instinctively  that  Baroudi  liked  to  see  her  do 
this.  When  she  was  satisfied  with  her  appearance  she  put 
the  ease  down. 

''It  is  charming,"  she  said,  touching  it  as  it  lay  near 
her  cup. 

''It  is  for  you." 

"I  will  take  it  away  this  evening." 

She  wished  there  was  a  big  diamond,  or  a  big  emerald, 
set  in  it  somewhere.  She  had  had  to  sell  most  of  her  finest 
jewels  when  the  bad  time  had  come  in  England. 

"I  must  have  a  cigarette." 

The  coffee,  the  cigarette — they  were  both  delicious.  The 
warmth  of  the  atmosphere  was  like  satin  about  her  body. 
She  heard  a  little  soft  sound.  An  orange  had  dropped 
from  a  branch  into  the  scarlet  tangle  of  the  geraniums. 

"Why  don't  you  talk  to  meT'  she  said  to  Baroudi. 

But  she  said  it  with  a  lazy  indifference.  Was  her  pur- 
pose beginning  to  weaken  in  this  morning  made  for  dream- 
ing, in  this  luxury  of  isolation  with  the  silent  man  who 
always  watched  her? 

"Why  should  I  talk  to  you?  I  am  not  like  those  who 
make  a  noise  always  whether  they  have  words  within  them 
that  need  to  be  spoken  or  not.  What  do  you  wish  me  to  say 
to  you?"  he  answered. 

'''"Well " 

She  took  up  the  palm-leaf  fan  which  he  had  laid  upon 
the  table. 

"Let  me  see!" 

How  should  she  get  at  him?  What  method  was  the 
best  ?  Somehow  she  did  not  feel  inclined  to  be  subtle  with 
him.  As  she  had  powdered  her  face  before  him  so  she 
could  calmly  have  applied  the  kohl  to  her  eyelids,  and  so  she 


222  BELLA  DONNA 

could  now  be  crude  in  speech  with  him.  What  a  rest, 
what  an  almost  sensuous  joy  that  was !  And  she  had  only 
just  realized  it,  suddenly^  very  thoroughly. 

* '  What  are  you  like  ? ' '  she  said.    ' '  I  want  to  know. ' ' 

She  moved  the  fan  gently,  very  languidly,  to  and  fro. 

*'But  you  can  tell  me,  because  you  can  see  me  all  the 
time,  and  I  cannot  see  myself  unless  I  take  the  glass,"  he 
said. 

*'Not  outside,  Baroudi,  inside." 

She  spoke  rather  as  if  to  a  child. 

**The  man  who  shows  all  that  is  in  him  to  a  woman  is 
not  a  clever  man." 

**But  clever  men  often  do  that,  without  knowing  they 
are  doing  it." 

**You  are  thinking  of  your  Englishmen,"  he  said,  but 
apparently  without  sarcasm. 

She  remembered  their  first  conversation  alone. 

*  *  The  fine  fellers — the  rulers ! '  *  she  said. 

He  did  not  answer  her  smile. 

*'Your  Englishmen  show  what  they  are.  They  do  not 
care  to  hide  anything.  If  any  one  does  not  like  all  they  are, 
so  much  the  worse  for  him.  Let  him  have  a  kick  and  no 
piastre.  And  to  the  women  they  are  the  same — no!  that 
is  not  true." 

He  checked  himself. 
**No ;  to  the  men  they  are  men  who  are  ready  to  kick,  but 
to  the  women  they  are  boys.  A  woman  takes  a  boy  by  the 
ear" — ^he  put  his  left  hand  over  his  head  and  took  hold  of 
his  right  ear  by  the  top — ''so,  and  leads  him  where  she 
pleases.  So  the  woman  leads  the  Englishman.  But  we  are 
not  like  that." 

She  gazed  at  the  brown  hand  that  held  the  ear.  How 
unnatural  that  action  had  seemed  to  her!  Yet  to  him  it 
was  perfectly  natural.  Surely  in  everything  he  was  the 
opposite  of  all  that  she  was  accustomed  to.  He  took  his 
hand  away  from  his  ear. 

*'How  much  have  you  been  out  of  Egypt?"  she  asked 
him. 


BELLA  DONNA  223 

**Not  very  much.  I  have  been  three  times  to  Naples  in 
the  hot  weather.  My  father  had  a  villa  at  Posilipo.  I 
have  been  with  my  father  to  Vichy.  I  have  been  four  times 
to  Paris.  I  have  been  to  Constantinople,  and  I  have  trav- 
elled in  Syria. ' ' 

''Did  you  go  to  Palestine?" 

' '  Jerusalem — no.    That  is  for  Copts ! ' ' 

He  spoke  with  disdain.  Then  he  added,  with  a  sort  of 
calm  pride  and  a  certain  accession  of  dignity: 

"I  have  been,  of  course,  to  Mecca." 

*'The  real  man — is  he  to  be  found  in  his  religion?" 

The  thought  came  to  her,  and  again  she — she  of  all 
women!  How  strange  that  was! — felt  the  fascination  of 
his  faith. 

''To  Mecca! "she  said. 

Men  passed  tlu-ough  deserts  to  reach  the  holy  places. 
Nigel  one  evening  had  told  her  something  of  that  journey, 
and  she  had  felt  rather  bored.  Now  she  looked  at  a  pilgrim 
who  had  gone  with  the  Sacred  Carpet,  and  she  was  bored  no 
longer. 

"Hamza — is  he  your  servant?"  she  asked,  with  an 
apparent  irrelevance,  that  was  not  really  irrelevance. 

' '  He  is  a  donkey-boy  at  Luxor. ' ' 

*'Yes.  He  used  not  to  be  my  donkey-boy.  He  has  only 
been  my  donkey-boy  since — since  my  husband  has  gone. 
They  say  in  Luxor  he  is  really  a  dervish." 

' '  They  say  many  things  in  Luxor. ' ' 

"They  call  him  the  praying  donkey-boy.  Has  he  too 
been  to  Mecca?" 

His  face  slightly  changed.  The  eyes  narrowed,  the 
sloping  brows  came  down.  But  after  a  short  pause  he 
answered : 

"He  went  to  Mecca  with  me.    I  paid  for  him  to  go." 

She  did  not  know  much  of  Mohammedans,  but  she  knew 
enough  to  be  aware  that  Hamza  was  not  likely  to  forget 
that  benefit.  And  Baroudi  had  chosen  Hamza  to  be  her 
donkey-boy.  She  felt  as  if  the  hands  of  Islam  were  laid 
upon  her. 


224  BELLA  DONNA 

' '  Hamza  must  be  very  grateful  to  you ! '  *  she  said,  slowly. 

Baroudi  made  no  reply.  She  looked  away  over  the 
wild  geraniums,  down  the  alley  between  the  trees  to  the 
hollow  in  the  river-bank,  and  she  saw  a  lateen  sail  glide 
by,  and  vanish  behind  the  trees,  going  towards  the  south. 
In  a  moment  another  came,  then  a  third,  a  fourth.  The 
fourth  was  orange-coloured.  For  an  instant  she  followed 
its  course  beyond  the  leaves  of  the  orange-trees.  How 
many  boats  were  going  southwards ! 

*'A11  the  boats  are  going  southwards  to-day,"  she  said. 

*'The  breeze  is  from  the  north,"  he  answered,  pro- 
saically. 

'*I  want  to  go  further  up  the  Nile." 

*'If  you  go,  you  should  take  a  dahabeeyah." 

**Like  the  Loulia.  But  I  am  sure  there  is  not  a  second 
Loulia  on  the  Nile." 

*'Do  you  think  you  would  like  to  live  for  a  time  upon 
my  Loulia  f* 

She  nodded,  without  speaking. 

More  lateen  sails  went  by,  like  wings.  The  effect  of 
them  was  bizarre,  seen  thus  from  a  distance  and  without 
the  bodies  to  which  they  were  attached.  They  became 
mysterious,  and  Mrs.  Armine  was  conscious  of  their  mys- 
tery. With  Baroudi  she  felt  strangeness,  mystery,  romance, 
things  she  had  either  as  a  rule  ignored  or  openly  jeered  at 
during  many  years  of  her  life.  Did  she  feel  them  because 
he  did?  The  question  could  not  be  answered  till  she  knew 
more  of  what  he  felt. 

* '  Perhaps  it  will  be  so.  Perhaps  you  will  live  upon  the 
Loulia/^  he  said. 

* '  How  could  I  ?    And  when  ? ' ' 

**We  do  in  our  lives  many  things  we  have  said  to  our- 
selves we  never  shall  do.  And  we  often  do  them  just  at 
the  times  when  we  have  thought  they  will  be  impossible  to 
do." 

*'But  you  make  plans  beforehand." 

''Do  I?" 

**Yes.    Have  you  made  a  plan  about  the  Loulia  f*' 


BELLA  DONNA  225 

She  felt  now  that  he  had,  and  she  felt  that,  like  a  fly 
in  a  web,  she  was  enmeshed  in  his  plan. 

Another  orange-coloured  sail!  "Would  she  ever  sail  to 
the  south  in  the  Louliaf 

"Will  you  not  taste  this  jelly  made  of  rose-leaves?'* 

Without  touching  the  ground  with  his  hands,  he  rose  to 
his  feet  and  stood  by  the  table. 

''Yes.    Give  me  a  little,  but  only  a  little.'* 

He  drew  from  one  of  his  pockets  a  small  silver  knife, 
and,  with  a  gentle  but  strong  precision,  thrust  it  into  the 
rose-coloured  sweetmeat  and  carefully  detached  a  piece. 
Then  he  took  the  piece  in  his  brown  fingers  and  handed  it 
to  Mrs.  Armine — who  had  been  watching  him  with  a  deep 
attention,  the  attention  a  woman  gives  only  to  all  the 
actions,  however  slight,  of  a  man  whose  body  makes  a  tre- 
mendous appeal  to  hers.  She  took  it  from  him  and  put  it 
into  her  mouth. 

As  she  ate  it,  she  shut  her  eyes. 

*'And  now  tell  me — have  you  made  a  plan  about  the 
Louliaf  she  said. 

His  face,  as  he  looked  at  her,  was  a  refusal  to  reply, 
and  so  it  was  not  a  denial. 

"Live  for  the  day  as  it  comes,"  he  said,  "and  do  not 
think  about  to-morrow." 

"That  is  my  philosophy.  But  when  you  are  thinking 
about  to-morrow?" 

Again  she  thought  of  Hamza,  and  she  seemed  to  see  those 
two,  Baroudi  and  Hamza,  starting  together  on  the  great 
pilgrimage.  From  it,  perhaps  made  more  believing  or  more 
fanatical,  they  had  returned — to  step  into  her  life. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "that  either  you,  or  some- 
thing in  Egypt,  is — is " 

"What?"  he  asked,  with  apparent  indifference. 

"Is  having  an  absurd  effect  upon  me." 

She  laughed,  with  difficulty,  frowned,  sighed,  while  he 

steadily  watched  her.     At  that  moment  something  within 

her  was  struggling,  like  a  little,  anxious,  active  creature, 

striving  fiercely,  minute  though  it  was,  to  escape  out  of  a 

15 


226  BELLA  DONNA 

trap.  It  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  the  introduction  of 
Hamza  into  her  life  by  Baroudi  that  was  furtively  dis- 
tressing her. 

**I  always  do  live  for  the  day  as  it  comes,"  she  con- 
tinued. "In  English  there's  a  saying,  'Eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry,  for  to-morrow '  " 

*' To-morrow?" 

**  *  To-morrow  we  die.*  " 

**Are  you  frightened  of  death?"  he  said. 

There  was  an  open  contempt  in  his  voice. 

*' You  aren't?" 

A  light  that  she  had  never  seen  in  them  before  shone 
in  hi^  eyes.  Only  from  the  torches  of  fatalism  does  such  a 
light  sometimes  beacon  out,  showing  an  edge  of  the  soul. 
It  was  gone  almost  before  she  had  time  to  see  it. 

*' Among  men  I  may  talk  of  such  things,"  he  said,  **but 
not  with  women.    Do  you  like  the  leaves  of  the  roses?" 

He  held  his  knife  ready  above  the  sweetmeat. 

* '  No ;  I  don 't  want  any  more.  I  don 't  like  it  very  much. 
The  taste  of  it  is  rather  sickly.    Sit  down,  Baroudi. '  * 

She  made  a  gesture  towards  the  floor.  He  obeyed  it, 
and  squatted  down.  She  had  meant  to  **get  at"  this  man. 
"Well,  she  had  accidentally  got  at  something  in  him.  He 
was  apparently  of  the  type  of  those  Moslems  who  are  ready 
to  rush  upon  cold  steel  in  order  to  attain  a  sensual  Para- 
dise. 

Her  languor,  her  dreaming  raood  in  the  bright  silence  of 
this  garden  of  oranges  on  the  edge  of  the  Nile — they  were 
leaving  her  now.  The  shaduf  man  cried  again,  and  again 
she  remembered  a  night  of  her  youth,  again  she  remembered 
**Aida,"  and  the  uprising  of  her  nature.  She  had  been 
punished  for  that  uprising — she  did  not  believe  by  a  God, 
who  educates,  but  by  the  world,  which  despises.  Could  she 
be  punished  again?  It  was  strange  that  though  for  years 
she  had  defied  the  world's  opinion,  since  she  had  married 
again  she  had  again  begun,  almost  without  being  aware  of 
it,  to  tend  secretly  towards  desire  of  conciliating  it.  Per- 
haps that  was  ungovernable  tradition  returning  to  its  wort 


BELLA  DONNA  227 

within  her.  To-day  she  felt,  in  her  middle  life,  something 
of  what  she  had  felt  then  in  her  youth.  When  she  had 
met  for  the  first  time  at  the  opera  the  man  for  whom  after- 
wards she  had  ruined  herself,  his  fierce  attraction  had 
fallen  upon  her  like  a  great  blow  struck  by  a  determined 
hand.  It  had  not  stunned  her  to  stupidity ;  it  had  roused 
her  to  feverish  life.  Now,  after  years,  she  was  struck 
another  blow,  and  again  the  feverish  life  leaped  up  within 
her.  But  between  the  two  blows  what  great  stretches  of 
experience,  and  all  the  lost  good  opinion  of  the  world !  In 
the  deep  silence  of  the  orange-garden  just  then  premoni- 
tion whispered  to  her.  She  longed  for  the  renewed  cry  of 
the  fellah  to  drown  that  sinister  voice,  but  when  it  came, 
distant,  yet  loud,  down  the  alley  between  the  trees,  it 
seemed  to  her  like  premonition's  voice,  suddenly  raised  in 
menace  against  her.  And  she  seemed  to  hear  behind  it, 
and  very  far  away,  the  world  which  had  been  her  world 
once  more  crying  shame  upon  her.  Then  for  a  moment  she 
was  afraid  of  herself,  as  if  she  stood  away  from  her  own 
evil,  and  looked  at  it,  and  saw,  with  a  wonder  mingled  with 
horror,  how  capable  it  was. 

"Would  she  again  set  out  to  earn  a  punishment? 

But  how  could  she  be  punished  again  ?  The  world  had 
surely  done  its  worst,  and  so  lost  its  power  over  her.  The 
arm  that  had  wielded  the  lash  had  wielded  it  surely  to 
the  limit  of  strength.  There  could  be  nothing  more  to  be 
afraid  of. 

And  then — Nigel  stood  before  the  eyes  of  her  mind. 

In  the  exquisite  peace  of  this  garden  at  the  edge  of  the 
Nile  a  storm  was  surging  up  within  her.  And  Baroudi  sat 
there  at  her  feet,  impassive,  immobile,  with  his  still, 
luminous  eyes  always  steadily  regarding  her. 

**My  husband  will  soon  be  coming  back!''  she  said, 
abruptly. 

* '  And  I  shall  soon  be  going  up  the  river  to  Armant,  and 
from  Armant  to  Esneh,  and  from  Esneh  to  Kom  Ombos 
and  Aswan." 

She  felt  as  if  she  heard  life  escaping  from  her  into  the 


228  BELLA  DONNA 

regions  of  the  south,  and  a  coldness  of  dread  encompassed 
her. 

** There  is  a  girl  at  Aswan  who  is  like  the  full  moon,*' 
murmured  Baroudi. 

She  realized  his  absolute  liberty,  and  a  heat  as  of  fire 
swept  over  the  cold.    But  she  only  said,  with  a  smile : 

**Why  don't  you  sail  for  Aswan  to-night?" 

** There  is  time,"  he  answered.  "She  will  not  leave 
Aswan  until  I  choose  for  her  to  go." 

*'And  are  there  full  moons  at  Armant,  and  Esneh,  and 
Kom  Ombos?" 

She  seemed  to  be  lightly  laughing  at  him. 

**At  Esneh — no;  at  Kom  Ombos — ^no." 

**And  Armant?" 

A  sharpness  had  crept  into  her  lazy  voice. 

**  There  are  French  at  Armant,  and  where  the  French 
come  the  little  women. come." 

She  remembered  the  pretty  little  rooms  on  the  Loulia. 
He  possessed  a  floating  house — a  floating  freedom.  At  that 
moment  she  hated  the  dahabeeyah.  She  wished  it  would 
strike  on  a  rock  in  the  Nile  and  go  to  pieces.  But  he  would 
be  floating  up  the  river  into  the  golden  south,  while  she 
travelled  northwards  to  a  tent  in  the  Fayyum !  She  could 
hardly  keep  her  body  still  in  her  chair.  She  picked  up  one 
of  the  silver  boxes,  and  tightened  her  fingers  round  it. 

"Will  you  take  a  little  more  of  the  rose-leaf  jelly?"  he 
asked. 

"No,  no." 

She  dropped  the  box.  It  made  a  dry  sound  as  it  struck 
the  table. 

' '  I  must  stay  at  Armant  some  days.  I  have  to  look  after 
my  sugar  interests  there." 

' '  Oh — sugar ! ' '  she  exclaimed.  *  *  My  husband  may  think 
you  do  nothing  but  look  after  your  affairs,  but  you  mustn't 
suppose  a  woman " 

"A  woman — what?" 

"I  knew  from  the  first  you  lov«»d  pleasure." 

She  took  up  the  fan  again. 


BELLA  DONNA  229 

'  *  From  the  first  ?    When  was  that  ? ' ' 

**Oii  the  Hohenzollern,  of  course." 

**And  I — I  knew — I  knew '* 

He  paused,  smiling  at  her. 

"What  did  you  know?" 
*  *  Oh,  I  can  understand  something  of  women — when  they 
permit  me.     And  on  the  Hohenzollern  you  permitted  me. 
Did  you  not?" 

"I  never  spoke  to  you  alone." 

"It  was  not  necessary.    It  was  not  at  all  necessary." 

* '  Of  course,  I  know  that. ' ' 

She  was  burning — her  whole  body  was  burning — with 
retrospective  jealousy,  and  as  she  looked  at  him  the  flame 
seemed  to  be  fanned,  to  give  out  more  heat,  to  scorch  her, 
sear  her,  more  terribly.  A  man  like  this,  an  Eastern, 
utterly  untrammelled,  with  no  public  opinion — and  at  this 
moment  England,  in  her  thought  of  it,  seemed  full  of  public 
opinion;  Puritan  England — ^to  condemn  him  or  restrain 
him,  in  this  climate  what  must  his  life  have  been?  And 
what  would  his  life  be?  Something  in  her  shrieked  out 
against  his  freedom.  She  felt  within  her  a  pain  that  was 
almost  intolerable;  the  pain  of  a  no  longer  young,  but 
forcible,  woman,  who  was  still  brimful  of  life,  and  who  was 
fiercely  and  physically  jealous  of  a  young  man  over  whom 
she  had  no  rights  at  all.  Ah,  if  only  she  were  twenty  years 
younger!  But — even  now!  She  leaned  her  arms  care- 
lessly on  the  table,  and  managed  to  glance  into  the  lid  of 
the  ioUe  de  beaute  which  he  had  given  her.  The  expression 
in  the  eyes  that  looked  into  hers  from  the  lid  startled  her. 
Where  was  her  experience?  She  was  ashamed  of  herself. 
Crudity  was  all  very  well  with  this  man,  but — there  were 
limits.  She  must  not  pass  them  without  meaning  to  do  so, 
without  knowing  she  was  doing  so.  And  she  had  not  lived 
her  life  since  her  divorce  without  discovering  that  the 
greatest  faux  pas  a  jealous  woman  can  take  is  to  show  her 
jealousy.  Husbands  of  other  women  had  proved  that  to 
her  up  to  the  hilt,  when  she  had  been  their  refuge. 

* '  Of  course !    You  know  much  of  men. ' ' 


230  BELLA  DONNA 

He  spoke  with  a  quiet  assurance  as  of  one  in  complete 
possession  of  her  past.  For  the  first  time  the  question, 
''Has  he  heard  of  the  famous  Mrs.  Chepstow?  Does  he — 
know?'*  flashed  through  her  mind.  It  was  possible.  For 
he  had  been  in  Europe,  to  Paris.  And  he  could  read 
English,  and  perhaps  had  read  many  English  papers. 

''Did  you  ever  hear  of  some  one  called  'Bella  Donna'?" 
she  said,  slowly. 

Her  voice  sounded  careless,  but  her  eyes  were  watch- 
ing him  closely. 

' '  Bella  Donna !  But  any  beautiful  woman  may  be  that. ' ' 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Mrs.  Chepstow?" 

"No." 

He  stared  at  her,  then  added : 

"Who  is  it.    Does  she  come  to  Cairo  in  the  winter?" 

She  felt  certain  he  had  not  heard,  and  was  not  sure 
that  she  was  glad.  Her  sort  of  fame  might  perhaps  have 
attracted  him.  She  wondered  and  longed  to  know.  She 
longed  to  ask  him  many  questions  about  his  thoughts  of 
women.  But  of  course  he  would  not  tell  her  the  truth. 
And  men  hate  to  be  questioned  by  women. 

"Does  she  come  to  Cairo?"  he  repeated. 

* '  She  was  there  once. ' ' 

"You  are  Bella  Donna,"  he  said. 

"You  had  to  say  that." 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  true.  You  are  Bella  Donna,  but  you 
are  not  donna  onesta." 

She  did  not  resent  the  remark,  which  was  made  with  an 
almost  naive  gravity  and  directness.  She  was  quite  sure  that 
Baroudi  would  never  appreciate  a  woman  because  she  was 
honest.  Again  she  longed  to  hint  at  her  notoriety,  at  the 
evil  reputation  she  had  acquired,  which  yet  was  a  sort  of 
fame. 

"In — in  Europe  they*  often  call  me  Bella  Donna,"  she 
said. 

"In  Europe?" 

"In  England — London." 

"They  are  right  I  shall  call  you  Bella  Donna  here, 
beside  the  Nile." 


BELLA  DONNA  231 

He  said  it  negligently,  but  something  in  her  rejoiced. 
Nevertheless,  she  said,  she  could  not  help  saying: 

^'And  the  full  moon  r' 

**What  about  her?" 

'*Is  she  Bella  Donna?'' 

He  half  closed  his  eyes  and  looked  down. 

*'I  don't  ask  you  if  she  is  donna  onesta.** 

He  replied:  "She  is  sixteen,  and  she  is  a  dancing- 
girl." 

**I  understand,'  she  said,  with  an  effort. 

She  shut  her  lips  tightly  and  was  silent,  thinking  of 
Nigel's  return,  of  her  departure  with  him  to  the  Fayyiim, 
while  this  man,  on  his  luxurious  floating  home,  went  on 
towards  the  south.  She  had  resolved  to  live  for  the  day. 
But  when  does  any  jealous  woman  live  for  the  day  ?  Jeal- 
ousy hurls  itself  into  the  past  and  into  the  future,  demand- 
ing of  the  one  what  was  and  of  the  other  what  will  be. 
And — the  canvas  of  a  tent  would  enfold  her,  would  make 
her  prison  walls!  Why,  why  had  she  tied  herself?  A 
month  ago,  and  she  was  utterly  free.  She  could  have  gone 
to  the  south  on  the  Loulia.  Her  whole  body  tingled,  revolt- 
ing against  the  yoke  with  which  her  will  had  burdened  it. 
But  when  she  spoke  again  her  voice  was  lazy  and  calm?" 

"I  suppose  you  won't  stay  on  the  Nile  for  ever?" 

Again  her  fingers  closed  mechanically  on  one  of  the 
boxes. 

' '  But  no !  I  shall  have  to  go  back  to  Assiut,  and  then 
to  Cairo  and  Alexandria,  the  Delta,  too." 

*'And  the  Fayyum?  Haven't  you  property  there? 
Isn't  it  one  of  the  richest  districts  in  Egypt?" 

He  looked  at  her  and  smiled,  slightly  pouting  his  thick 
lips. 

*'Even  if  I  could  go  to  the  Fayyum,  I  don't  think  it 
would  be  much  good, ' '  he  answered. 

He  had  no  scruple  in  stripping  her  bare  of  subterfuge. 

"I  meant  that  your  advice  on  Egyptian  agriculture 
might  be  valuable  to  my  husband,"  she  retorted,  with 
composure. 


232  BELLA  DONNA 

Something  in  his  glance,  in  his  tone,  seemed  suddenly 
to  brace  her,  to  restore  her. 

**Ah!  that  is  true.  Mr.  Armeen  would  take  my  advice. 
In  some  ways  he  is  not  so  very  English." 

*  *  Then  it  would  be  kind  to  come  to  the  Fayyum  and  to 
give  him  the  benefit  of  your  advice.'* 

He  leaned  towards  her,  and  said: 

'*  Bella  Donna  is  not  so  very  subtle!" 

*'You  think  subtlety  so  necessary?"  she  asked,  with  a 
light  tinge  of  irony.    *'I  really  don't  see  why." 

His  eyes  narrowed  till  they  were  only  slits  through 
which  gleamed  a  yellowish  light. 

* '  When  is  your  French  maid  going  ? "  he  asked. 

She  moved,  and  sat  looking  at  him  for  a  minute  without 
replying.    Had  he  read  her  thought  of  the  morning  ? 

* '  My  maid ! ' '  she  said  at  length.  *  *  What  do  you  mean  ? 
Why  should  she  go?" 

''When  is  she  going?"  he  repeated. 

The  brigand  had  suddenly  reappeared  in  him. 

''What  an  absurd  idea!  I  can't  possibly  get  on  with- 
out a  maid." 

She  still  acted  a  careless  surprise.  An  obscure  voice 
within  her — a  voice  that  she  scarcely  recognized,  whispered 
to  her,  "Resist!" 

"When  is  she  going?"  he  said  once  more,  as  if  he  had 
not  heard  her. 

The  man  who  was  working  by  the  shaduf  cried  out  no 
more.  No  more  did  Mrs.  Armine  see,  at  the  end  of  the 
long  and  narrow  alley,  behind  the  fretwork  of  shining, 
pointed  leaves,  the  lateen  sails  go  by.  And  the  withdrawal 
of  the  crying  voices  and  of  the  gliding  sails  seemed  to  leave 
this  orange-garden  at  the  very  end  of  the  world.  The 
golden  peace  of  the  noon  wrapped  it  as  in  a  garment,  the 
hem  of  which  was  wrought  in  geranium-red,  in  shining 
green,  and  in  yellow  turning  to  gold.  But  in  this  peace 
she  was  conscious  of  the  need  to  struggle  if  she  would 
dwell  in  safety.  Soft  seemed  this  garment  that  was  falling 
gently  about  her.    But  was  it  not  really  deadly  as  a  shirt  of 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  233 

Nessus,  the  poison  of  which  would  penetrate  her  limbs» 
would  creep  into  her  very  soul? 

It  was,  perhaps,  a  little  thing,  this  question  of  the 
going,  or  not,  of  her  maid,  but  she  felt  that  if  she  resisted 
his  will  in  this  matter  she  would  win  a  decisive  battle^ 
obtain  security  from  a  danger  impending,  whereas  if  she 
yielded  in  this  she  would  be  yielding  the  whole  of  her  will 
to  his. 

"I  won^t  yield!"  she  said  to  herself. 

And  then  she  looked  at  the  brigand  beside  her,  and 
something  within  her,  that  seemed  to  be  the  core  of  her 
womanhood,  longed  intensely  to  yield. 

She  had  wished  to  get  rid  of  Marie.  Quite  without 
prompting  she  had  decided  that  very  morning  to  send 
Marie  away.  Then  how  unreasonable  it  would  be  to  refuse 
to  do  it  just  because  he,  too,  wished  the  girl  to  go ! 

*  *  Why  do  you  want  her  to  go  ? "  she  asked  slowly,  with 
her  eyes  upon  him.  ''How  can  it  matter  to  you  whether 
my  maid  goes  or  stays?" 

He  only  looked  at  her,  opened  his  eyes  widely,  and 
laughed.  He  took  another  cigarette,  lit  it,  and  laughed 
again  quietly,  but  with  surely  a  real  enjoyment  of  her 
pretence  of  ignorance,  of  her  transparent  hypocrisy.  Nev- 
ertheless, she  persisted. 

'*I  can't  see  what  such  a  thing  can  possibly  have  to  do 
with  you,  or  why  it  should  interest  you  at  all." 

"I  will  find  you  a  better  maid." 

**Hamza — perhaps?"  she  said. 

**And  why  not  Hamza?" 

He  looked  at  her,  and  was  silent.  And  again  she  felt  a 
sensation  of  fear.  There  was  something  deadly  about  the 
praying  donkey-boy. 

''When  is  that  girl  going?" 

Mrs.  Armine  opened  her  lips  to  say,  *'She  is  not  going 
at  all."    They  said: 

"I  intend  to  get  rid  of  her  within  the  next  few  days, 
I  always  intended  to  get  rid  of  her." 

*'Yes?" 


234  BELLA  DONNA 

*'She  isn't  really  a  good  maid.  She  doesn't  understand 
my  ways. ' ' 

*'0r  she  understands  them  too  well,"  said  Baroudi 
calmly.  "When  she  is  gone,  I  shall  burn  the  alum  upon 
the  coals  and  give  it  to  be  eaten  by  a  dog  that  is  black. 
That  girl  has  the  evil  eye." 


XX 

In  the  lodge  in  the  garden  of  oranges,  when  the  noon- 
tide was  past  and  the  land  lay  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
gaze  of  the  sun,  Baroudi  offered  to  ]\Irs.  Armine  an  Egyp- 
tian dinner,  or  El-Ghada,  served  on  a  round  tray  of  shining 
gold,  which  was  set  upon  a  low  stool  cased  with  tortoise- 
shell  and  ornamented  with  many  small  squares  of  mother- 
of-pearl.  "When  she  and  Baroudi  came  into  the  room  where 
they  were  to  eat,  the  tray  was  already  in  its  place,  set  out 
with  white  silk  napkins,  with  rounds  of  yellow  bread,  and 
with  limes  cut  into  slices.  The  walls  were  hung  with  silks 
of  shimmering  green,  and  dull  gold,  and  deep  and  sultry 
red.  Upon  the  floor  were  strewn  some  more  of  the  mar- 
vellous rugs,  of  which  Baroudi  seemed  to  have  an  unlimited 
supply.  Round  the  room  was  the  usual  deep  divan. 
Incense  burned  in  a  corner.  Through  a  large  window  space, 
from  which  the  hanging  shutters  were  partially  pushed 
back,  Mrs.  Armine  saw  a  vista  of  motionless  orange-trees. 

She  sat  down  on  a  pile  of  silken  cushions  which  had 
been  laid  for  her  on  the  rugs.  As  she  arranged  her  skirt 
and  settled  herself,  from  an  earthen  drum  just  outside  the 
house  and  an  arghool  there  came  a  crude  sound  of  native 
music,  to  which  almost  immediately  added  itself  a  high  and 
quavering  voice,  singing : 

^^Doos  ya'  lellee!    Doos  ya'  lellee!" 

At  the  same  moment  Aiyoub  came  into  the  room,  with- 
out noise,  and  handed  to  Baroudi,  who  was  sitting  opposite 
to  Mrs.  Armine,  with  his  left  knee  touching  the  rug  and  his 
right  knee  raised  with  his  napkin  laid  over  it,  a  basin  of 
hammered  brass  with  a  cover,  and  a  brass  jug.     Baroudi 


BELLA  DONNA  235 

held  forth  his  hands,  and  Aiyoub  poured  water  upon  them, 
which  disappeared  into  the  basin  through  holes  pierced  in 
the  cover.  Then,  making  a  cup  of  his  hands  turned 
upwards,  Baroudi  received  more  water  into  it,  conveyed  it 
to  his  mouth,  rinsed  his  mouth  elaborately,  and  spat  out 
the  water  upon  the  cover  of  the  basin.  Aiyoub  carried 
away  the  basin  and  jug,  Baroudi  dried  his  hands  on  his 
napkin,  and  then  muttered  a  word.  It  was  ' '  Bi-smi-llah ! ' ' 
but  Mrs.  Armine  did  not  know  that.  She  sat  quite  still, 
for  a  moment  unseen,  unthought  of;  she  listened  to  the 
quavering  voice,  to  the  beaten  drum  and  arghool,  she  smelt 
the  incense,  and  she  felt  like  one  at  a  doorway  peering  in 
at  an  unknown  world. 

Almost  immediately  Aiyoub  came  back,  and  they  began 
the  meal,  which  was  perpetually  accompanied  by  the  music. 
Aiyoub  offered  a  red  soup,  a  Kaw-ur-meh — meat  stewed  in 
a  rich  gravy  with  little  onions — leaves  of  the  vine  contain- 
ing a  delicious  sort  of  forcemeat,  cucumbers  in  milk,  some 
small  birds  pierced  with  silver  skewers,  spinach,  and  fried 
wheat  flour  mingled  with  honey.  She  was  given  a  knife 
and  fork  and  a  spoon,  all  made  of  silver,  and  the  plates 
were  of  silver,  which  did  not  harmonize  well  with  the 
golden  tray.  Baroudi  used  only  his  fingers  and  pieces  of 
bread  in  eating. 

]\Irs.  Armine  was  hungry,  and  ate  heartily.  She  knew 
nothing  about  Eastern  cooking,  but  she  was  a  gourmet,  and 
realized  that  Baroudi 's  cook  was  an  accomplished  artist  in 
his  own  line.  During  the  meal  she  was  offered  nothing  to 
drink,  but  directly  it  was  over  Aiyoub  brought  to  her  a 
beautiful  cup  of  gold  or  gilded  silver — she  did  not  know 
which — and  poured  into  it  with  ceremonial  solemnity  a 
small  quantity  of  some  liquid. 

''What  is  it?"  she  asked  Baroudi. 

*' Drink!"  he  replied. 

She  lifted  the  cup  to  her  lips  and  drank  a  draught  of 
water. 

'*0h!"  she  said,  with  an  intonation  of  surprised  disap- 
pointment. 

'^Lish  rub  el  Moyeh  en  Nil  awadeh!**  he  said. 


236  BELLA  DONNA 

*'Wliat  does  that  mean?*' 

**  'Who  drinks  Nile  water  must  return.'  " 

She  smiled,  lifted  the  cup  again  to  her  lips,  and  drank 
the  last  drop  of  water. 

*'Nile  water!     I  understand." 

*'And  now  you  will  have  some  sherbet." 

He  spoke  to  Aiyoub  in  Arabic.  Aiyoub  took  away  the 
cup,  brought  a  tall,  delicate  glass,  and  having  thrown  over 
his  right  arm  an  elaborately  embroidered  napkin,  poured 
into  it  from  a  narrow  vase  of  china  a  liquid  the  colour  of 
which  was  a  soft  and  velvety  green. 

"Is  this  really  sherbet?"  Mrs.  Armine  asked. 

''Sherbet  made  of  violets." 

**How  is  it  made?" 
'*By  crushing  the  flowers  of  violets,  making  them  into  a 
preserve  with  sugar,  and  boiling  them  for  a  long  time. 

Aiyoub  stayed  by  her  while  she  drank,  and  when  she 
had  finished  he  offered  her  the  embroidered  napkin.  She 
touched  it  with  her  lips. 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"It  is  very  strange.    But  everything  here  is  strange." 

Aiyoub  brought  once  more  to  his  master  the  basin  with 
the  cover  and  the  jug,  and  Baroudi  washed'  his  hands  and 
rinsed  his  mouth  as  at  the  beginning  of  the  meal.  After 
this  ceremony  he  again  muttered  a  word  or  words,  rose  to 
his  feet,  took  Mrs.  Armine 's  left  hand  with  his  right,  and 
led  her  to  the  divan.  Aiyoub  brought  coffee,  lifted  the 
golden  tray  from  its  stool,  set  the  coffee  on  a  smaller  tray 
upon  the  stool  close  to  the  divan,  and  went  out,  carrying 
the  golden  tray  very  carefully.  As  he  vanished,  the  music 
outside  ceased  with  an  abruptness,  a  lack  of  finality,  that 
were  startling  to  an  European.  The  almost  thrilling  silence 
that  succeeded  was  broken  by  a  bird  singing  somewhere 
among  the  orange-trees.    It  was  answered  by  another  bird. 

"They  are  singing  the  praises  of  God,"  said  Baroudi. 
in  a  deep  and  slow  voice,  and  as  if  he  were  jepoesViing  to 
himself. 

"Tho^e  birds!" 


BELLA  DONNA  237 

She  gazed  at  him  in  wonder.  He  looked  at  her  with 
Bombre  eyes. 

*'You  do  not  know  these  things/* 

Suddenly  she  felt  like  an  ignorant  and  stupid  child, 
like  one  unworthy  of  knowledge. 

He  sipped  his  coffee.  He  was  now  sitting  in  European 
fashion  beside  her  on  the  divan,  and  his  posture  made  it 
more  difficult  for  her  to  accept  his  strange  mentality;  for 
he  looked  like  a  tremendously  robust,  yet  very  lithe  and 
extremely  handsome  and  determined  young  man,  who 
might  belong  to  a  race  of  Southern  Europe.  Even  with  the 
tarbush  upon  his  head  his  appearance  was  not  unmistakably 
Eastern. 

And  this  man,  evidently  quite  seriously,  talked  to  her 
about  the  birds  singing  to  each  other  the  praises  of  God. 

**You  ought  to  be  differently  dressed,  *'  she  said. 

''How?" 

**In  Egyptian  clothes,  not  English  flannels." 

*'Some  day  you  shall  see  me  like  that,"  he  said,  reas- 
suringly. *'I  often  wear  the  kuftan  at  night  upon  the 
Loulia." 

''At  night  upon  the  Loulia!  Then  how  on  earth  can  I 
see  you  in  it?" 

She  spoke  with  a  sudden  sharp  irritation.  To-day  her 
marriage  with  Nigel  seemed  to  her  like  a  sword  suspended 
above  her,  which  would  presently  descend  upon  her,  strik- 
ing her  to  earth  with  all  her  capacity  for  happiness  unused. 

"You  will  see  me  with  the  drawers  of  linen,  the 
sudeyree,  the  kuftan,  the  gibbeh — or,  as  says  my  father, 
jubbeh — and  the  turban  on  my  head.  Only  you  must  wait 
a  little.  But  women  do  not  like  to  wait  for  a  pleasure. 
They  are  always  in  a  hurry," 

The  cool  egoism  with  which  he  accepted  and  commented 
on  her  admiration  roused  in  her,  not  anger,  but  a  sort  of 
almost  wondering  respect.  It  seemed  part  of  his  strength. 
He  lifted  his  eyebrows,  threw  back  his  head,  showing  his 
magnificent  throat,  and  with  the  gesture  that  she  had 
noticed  in  the  garden  of  the  Yilla  Androud  thrust  two 


238  BELLA  DONNA 

fingers  inside  his  low,  soft  collar,  and  kept  them  there 
while  he  added: 

**They  are  like  children,  and  must  be  treated  as  chil- 
dren. But  they  can  be  very  clever,  too,  when  they  w^ant  to 
trick.  I  know  that.  They  can  be  as  cunning  as  foxes,  and 
as  light-footed  and  swift  as  gazelles.  But  all  that  they  do 
and  all  that  they  are  is  just  for  men.  Women  are  made  for 
men,  and  they  know  it  so  well  that  it  is  only  about  men  that 
they  think.    I  tell  you  that. ' ' 

* '  No  doubt  it  is  true, ' '  she  said,  smilingly  accepting  his 
assertions. 

^' Women  will  run  even  after  the  Chinese  shadow  of  a 
man  if  they  are  not  shut  close  behind  the  grilles. '  * 

Mrs.  Armine  laughed  outright. 

**And  so  you  Easterns  generally  keep  them  there.'* 

*'Well,  and  are  we  not  wise?  Are  we  not  much  wiser 
than  the  Mr.  Armeens  of  Europe?'' 

His  unexpected  introduction  of  Nigel 's  name  gave  her  a 
little  shock,  and  the  bad  taste  of  it  for  an  instant  distressed 
even  her  tarnished  breeding.  But  the  sensation  vanished 
directly  as  she  remembered  his  Eastern  birth. 

*'And  you?"  she  said.  ** Would  you  never  trust  a 
woman  ? ' ' 

*' Never,"  he  calmly  returned.  *'A11  women  are  alike. 
If  they  see  the  Chinese  shadow,  they  must  run  after  it. 
They  cannot  help  themselves." 

*'You  seem  to  forget  that  men  are  for  ever  running 
after  the  Chinese  shadows  of  women,"  she  retorted. 

She  thought  of  her  own  life,  of  how  she  had  been  wor- 
shipped and  pursued,  not  pow  le  hon  motif,  but  still " 

She  would  like  him  to  know  about  all  that. 

**Men  do  that  to  please  women,  as  to  please  a  child  you 
give  it  a  sand  lizard  tied  to  a  string.  Put  the  string  into 
its  hand  and  the  child  is  happy.  So  it  is  with  a  woman. 
Only  she  wants  not  the  string,  but  the  edge  of  a  kuftan.'' 

It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Armine,  as  she  listened  to  Baroudi, 
that  she  was  permanently  deposed  from  the  place  she  had 
for  long  been  accustomed  to  occupy.    He  tacitly  demanded 


BELLA  DONNA  239 

md  accepted  her  admiration  instead  of  giving  her  his.  And 
yet — he  had  serenaded  her  on  the  Nile  that  first  evening  of 
her  coming.  He  had  bought  Hamza  and  Ibrahim.  He  had 
desired  and  tried  to  effect  the  swift  departure  of  Nigel. 
He  had  decreed  that  Marie  must  go.  And  the  Nile  water — 
with  how  much  intention  he  had  given  it  her  to  drink! 
And  he  had  plans  for  the  future.  They  seemed  gathering 
about  her  silently,  softly,  like  clouds  changing  the  aspect 
of  her  world. 

She  had  not  turned  that  glove  inside  out  yet. 

She  felt  that  she  must  alter  her  tactics,  assert  herself 
more  strongly,  escape  from  the  modest  position  he  seemed 
to  be  deliberately  placing  her  in.  Where  was  her  pride, 
even  of  a  courtesan? 

She  lifted  her  coffee-cup,  emptied  it,  put  it  down,  and 
began  to  pull  on  one  of  her  long  white  gloves.  Baroudi 
went  on  calmly  smoking.  She  picked  up  the  second  glove. 
He  sharply  clapped  his  hands.  Aiyoub  entered,  Baroudi 
spoke  to  him  in  Nubian,  and  he  swiftly  disappeared.  Mrs. 
Armine  pulled  on  the  second  glove. 

*'Now  I  must  go  home,"  she  said. 

She  moved  to  get  up,  but  her  movement  was  arrested 
by  the  furtive  entrance  of  a  thin  man  clad  in  what  looked 
to  her  like  a  bit  of  sacking,  with  naked  arms,  chest,  legs, 
and  feet,  and  a  narrow,  pointed  head,  completely  shaved  in 
front  and  garnished  at  the  back  with  a  mane  of  greasy 
black  hair,  which  fell  down  upon  his  shoulders.  In  his 
hand,  which  was  almost  black,  he  held  a  short  stick  of  palm- 
wood,  and  wdth  an  air  of  extravagant  mystery,  mingled 
with  cunning,  he  crept  round  the  room  close  to  the  walls, 
alternately  whistling  and  clucking,  bending  his  head,  as  if 
peering  at  the  floor,  then  lifting  it  to  gaze  up  at  the  ceiling. 
He  had  shot  a  keen  glance  at  Mrs.  Armine  as  he  came  in, 
but  he  seemed  at  once  to  forget  her,  and  to  be  wholly  intent 
upon  his  inexplicable  occupation. 

After  moving  several  times  in  this  manner  round  the 
room,  he  stopped  short,  almost  like  a  dog  pointing,  then 
drew  from  inside  his  coarse  garment  a  wrinkled  receptacle 


240  BELLA  DONNA 

of  discoloured  leather  with  a  widely-opened  mouth,  cried 
out  some  words  in  a  loud,  fierce  voice,  leaped  upwards,  and 
succeeded  in  striking  the  ceiling  with  his  stick. 

A  long  serpent  fell  down  into  the  bag. 

Mrs.  Armine  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise,  but  not  of 
alarm.  She  was  not  afraid  of  snakes.  The  darweesh  went 
creeping  about  as  before,  presently  called  out  some  more 
words,  and  struck  at  the  wall.  A  second  serpent  fell  into 
the  bag,  or  seemed  to  fall  into  it,  from  some  concealed  place 
among  the  silken  draperies.  Again  he  crept  about,  called, 
struck,  and  received  another  reptile.  Then  a  little  dark- 
eyed  boy  ran  in,  salaaming,  and  the  darweesh  ana  the  boy, 
to  the  accompaniment  of  wild  music  played  outside,  went 
through  a  performance  of  snake-charming  and  jugglery 
familiar  enough  in  the  East,  yet,  it  seems,  eternally  inter- 
esting to  Easterns,  and  fascinating  to  many  travellers. 
When  it  was  over  the  little  boy  salaamed  and  ran  out,  but 
the  music,  which  was  whining  and  intense,  still  went  on, 
and  the  darweesh  advanced,  holding  his  bag  of  snakes,  and 
stood  still  before  Mrs.  Armine.  For  the  first  time  he  fixed 
his  cunning  and  ferocious  eyes,  which  were  suffused  with 
blood,  steadily  upon  her,  as  if  he  desired  to  hypnotize  her, 
or  to  inspire  her  with  deadly  fear.  She  returned  his  gaze 
steadily  and  calmly,  and  held  out  her  hand  towards  the 
bag,  indicating  by  a  gesture  that  she  wished  to  handle  the 
serpents.  The  darweesh,  still  staring  at  her,  and  very 
slowly,  put  the  bag  close  to  her,  holding  it  under  her 
breast.  A  curious  musty  smell,  like  the  scent  of  something 
terribly  old,  came  to  her  nostrils.  She  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  then  deliberately  pulled  off  her  gloves,  put  them 
on  the  divan,  stood  up,  and  plunged  her  right  hand  into  the 
bag,  at  the  same  time  shutting  her  eyes.  She  shut  them  to 
enjoy  with  the  utmost  keenness  a  sensation  entirely  new. 

Her  hand  encountered  a  dry  and  writhing  life,  closed 
upon  it  firmly  but  gently,  drew  it  out  and  towards  her. 
Then  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  saw  that  she  had  taken  from 
the  dark  a  serpent  that  was  black  with  markings  of  a  dull 
orange  colour.     It  twisted  itself  in  her  hand,  as  if  trying  to 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  241 

escape,  but  as  she  held  it  firmly  it  presently  became  quieter, 
lifted  itself,  reared  up  its  flat  head,  and  seemed  to  regard 
her  with  its  feverish  and  guilty  eyes,  which  were  like  the 
eyes  of  something  consciously  criminal  that  must  always 
be  unrepentant.  She  looked  at  those  eyes,  and  she  felt  a 
strong  sympathy  for  the  creature,  and  no  sense  of  fear  at 
all.  Slowly  she  brought  it  nearer  to  her,  nearer,  nearer, 
till  it  wavered  out  from  her  hand  and  attained  her  body. 

The  darweesh  always  stood  before  her,  but  the  expres- 
sion in  his  eyes  had  changed,  was  no  longer  hypnotic  and 
terrible,  but  rather  deeply  observant.  Baroudi  sat  quite 
still  upon  the  divan.  He  looked  from  Mrs.  Armine  to  the 
serpent,  then  looked  again  at  her.  And  she,  feeling  these 
two  men  absolutely  concentrated  upon  her,  was  happy  and 
at  ease.  Swiftly  the  serpent  w^ound  itself  about  her,  and, 
clinging  to  her  waist,  thrust  forth  the  upper  part  of  its 
body  towards  the  darweesh,  shooting  out  its  ribbon  of  a 
tongue,  which  quivered  like  something  frail  in  a  draught  of 
wind.  It  lowered  and  raised  itself  several  times,  rhyth- 
mically, as  if  in  an  effort  to  obey  the  whining  music  and  to 
indulge  in  a  dancing  movement.  Then,  as  a  long  shrill 
note  was  held,  it  again  reared  itself  up,  till  its  head  was 
level  with  Mrs.  Armine 's  ear,  and  remained  there  quiver- 
ing, and  turning  itself  slowly  from  side  to  side  with  a 
flexibility  that  was  abominable  and  sickening.  The  music 
ceased.  There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Then,  with  a  fierce 
movement  that  seemed  expressive  of  a  jealousy  which 
could  no  longer  be  contained,  the  darweesh  seized  the  snake 
about  two  inches  below  its  head,  and  tore  it  away  from 
Mrs.  Armine.  The  terrible  look  had  returned  to  his  face 
with  an  added  fire  that  beaconed  a  revengeful  intention. 
Pressing  his  thumb  hard  upon  the  reptile 's  back,  he  seemed 
to  fall  into  a  frenzy.  He  several  times  growled  on  a  deep 
note,  bowed  back  and  forth,  tossing  his  mane  of  greasy 
hair  over  his  face  and  away  from  it,  depressed  his  body, 
then  violently  drew  it  up  to  its  full  height,  while  his  bare 
feet  executed  a  sort  of  crude  dance.  Then,  wrought  wp 
apparently  to  a  pitch  of  fanatical  fury,  he  bent  his  head, 
16 


242  BELLA  DONNA 

opened  his  mouth,  from  which  came  beads  of  foam,  and 
bit  off  the  serpent's  head.  Casting  away  its  body,  which 
still  seemed  writhing  with  life,  he  made  a  sound  of  munch- 
ing, working  his  jaws  extravagantly,  shot  forth  his  head 
towards  Mrs.  Armine,  gaped  to  show  her  his  mouth  was 
empty,  lifted  his  bag  from  the  floor  and  rushed  noiselessly 
from  the  room.  She  stood  looking  at  the  headless  body  of 
the  reptile  which  lay  on  the  rug  at  her  feet. 

*  *  Take  it  away ! ' '  she  said  to  Baroudi. 

He  picked  it  up,  went  to  the  window,  and  threw  it  out 
into  the  orange-garden.  Then  he  came  back  and  stood 
beside  her. 

** Horrible  brute!"  she  said. 
She  spoke  angrily.  When  the  darweesh  had  attacked  the 
serpent  she  had  felt  herself  attacked,  and  the  killing  of  it 
had  seemed  to  her  an  outrage  committed  upon  herself. 
Even  now  that  he  was  gone  and  the  headless  body  was  flung 
away,  she  could  not  rid  herself  of  this  sensation.  She  was 
full  of  an  intimate  sense  of  fury  that  longed  to  be  assuaged. 

**How  could  you  let  the  brute  do  that?"  she  exclaimed, 
turning  upon  Baroudi.  ''How  could  you  sit  there  and 
allow  such  a  hateful  thing?" 

''But  he  came  here  to  do  it.  He  is  one  of  the 
Saadeeyeh. ' ' 

"He  was  going  to  do  it  even  if  I  hadn't  taken  the 
serpent  ? ' ' 

"Of  course." 

' '  I  don 't  believe  that.  He  did  it  because  he  was  angry 
with  the  serpent  for  not  hurting  me,  for  letting  me  take  it." 

"As  you  please,"  he  said.    "What  does  it  matter?" 

She  glanced  at  him,  and  sat  do\^^l.  The  expression  in 
his  eyes  soothed  her,  the  new  look  that  she  could  read.  Had 
it  been  called  up  by  her  courage  with  the  serpent?  She 
wondered  if,  by  her  impulsive  action,  she  had  grasped 
something  in  him  which  till  now  had  seemed  to  elude  her. 
Nevertheless,  although  her  mood  was  changing,  the  sense 
of  personal  outrage  had  not  completely  died  out  of  her. 

"There  really  are  other  serpent  eaters?"  she  asked. 


BELLA  DONNA  243 

'*0f  course.     Saadees." 

*'And  that  man  is  one?  But  he  hated  my  taking  the 
serpent. ' ' 

''But  I  did  not  hate  if 

*'No." 

More  strongly  she  felt  that  she  had  grasped  something 
in  him  which  had  eluded  her  till  now. 

* '  Sit  there  for  a  minute  quietly, ' '  he  said,  with  a  g-entle- 
ness  that,  though  far  less  boyish,  recalled  to  her  mind  the 
smiling  gentleness  of  Ibrahim.  **And  I  will  give  you  a 
new  pleasure,  and  all  your  anger  will  go  from  you  as  the 
waves  go  from  the  Nile  w^hen  the  breeze  has  died  away. ' ' 

**Whatisit?" 

His  eyes  were  full  of  a  sort  of  happy  cunning  like  a 
child's. 

* '  Sit  there  and  you  will  know. ' ' 

He  went  out  of  the  room,  and  came  back  in  a  moment 
carrying  a  good-sized  box  carefully  wrapped  in  silver 
paper.  She  began  to  think  that  he  was  going  to  give  her 
another  present,  perhaps  some  wonderful  jewel.  But  he 
undid  the  silver  paper  cautiously,  opened  a  red-leather  case, 
and  displayed  a  musical  box.  After  placing  it  tenderly 
upon  the  coffee-table,  he  bent  down  and  set  it  going.  There 
was  a  click,  a  slight  buzzing,  and  then  upon  Mrs.  Armine  's 
enraptured  ears  there  fell  the  strains  of  an  old  air  from  a 
forgotten  opera  of  Auber's,  ''Come  o'er  the  Moonlit  Sea!" 

The  change  from  the  Saadee's  atmosphere  of  savage 
fanaticism  to  this  mild  and  tinkling  insipidity  threw  Mrs. 
Armine 's  nerves  off  their  balance. 

"Oh,  Baroudi!"  she  said. 

Her  lips  began  to  tremble.  She  turned  away  her  head. 
The  effort  not  to  betray  her  almost  hysterical  amusement, 
which  was  combined  with  an  intense  desire  to  pet  this  great, 
robust  child,  almost  suffocated  her.  There  was  a  click. 
The  music  stopped. 

' '  Wait  a  moment ! ' '  she  heard  him  say. 

And  his  voice  sounded  grave,  like  an  intensely  appre- 
ciative child's. 


B44.  BELLA  DONNA 

Click!    '*Parigi,  0  Cara!" 

Mrs.  Armine  governed  herself,  drew  breath,  and  once 
more  turned  towards  Baroudi.  On  his  strong,  bold  face 
there  was  the  delighted  expression  of  a  boy.  She  looked, 
looked  at  him,  and  all  her  half-tender  amusement  died 
away,  and  again,  as  in  the  Villa  Androud,  she  was  encom- 
passed by  fear.  The  immense  contrasts  in  this  man,  com- 
bined with  his  superb  physique,  made  him  to  her  irresist* 
ibly  fascinating.  In  him  there  was  a  complete  novelty  to 
appeal  to  her  jaded  appetites,  rendered  capricious  and 
uneasy  by  years  of  so-called  pleasure.  A  few  minutes  ago, 
when  he  had  spoken  of  death,  he  had  been  a  mysterious  and 
cruel  fatalist.  Now  he  was  a  deliciously  absurd  child,  but  a 
child  with  the  frame  of  a  splendid  man. 

The  musical  box  clicked.    ''Salve  Dimora.'* 

**Do  you  feel  better?''  he  asked  her. 

She  nodded. 

"I  bought  it  in  Naples." 

He  lifted  the  box  in  his  strong  brown  hands,  and  held  it 
nearer  to  her.  Nothing  in  his  face  betrayed  any  suspioi'^n 
that  she  could  be  amused  in  an  ironical  sense.  It  was 
obvious  that  he  supposed  her  to  be  as  happily  impressed  as 
he  was. 

**You  hear  it  better  now." 

She  nodded  again.    Then : 

*'Hold  it  close  to  my  ear,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  keep- 
ing her  eyes  upon  him. 

He  obeyed.  Once  his  hand  touched  her  ear,  and  she  felt 
its  warm  dryness,  and  she  sighed. 

**  Salve  Dimora"  ceased. 

** Another!"  she  said. 

And  she  said,  ** Another!"  and  ** Another!"  until  the 
box's  repertoire  was  finished,  and  then  she  made  him  turn 
on  once  more,  **Come  o'er  the  Moonlit  Sea!" 

Her  gloves  lay  on  the  divan  beside  her,  and  she  did  not 
draw  them  on  again.  She  did  not  even  pick  them  up  till 
the  heat  of  the  sun's  rays  was  declining,  and  the  musical 
box  had  long  been  silent. 


BELLA  DONNA  245 

1**1  must  go/'  she  said  at  last. 
She  put  her  hands  up  to  her  disordered  hair, 
'indeed  I  must.'' 
She  looked  at  her  watch  and  started  up. 
^'It's  horribly  late.     Where  is  Ibrahim?" 
Ibrahim's  smiling  face  was  seen  at  the  window. 
*'The  donkey,  Ibrahim!    I  want  the  donkey  at  once!'* 
"All  what  you  want  you  must  have." 
He  nodded  his  head,  as  if  agreeing  passively  with  him- 
'■'     self,  and  looked  on  the  ground. 

***riamza  he  ready.     Hamza  very  good  donkey-boy." 
''That's  right.    I  am  coming,"  she  said. 
Ibrahim  saluted,  still  smiling,  and  disappeared.     Mrs. 
rmine  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
It  was  already  the  time  of  sunset,  and  the  unearthly 
radiance  of  the  magical  hour  in  this  land  of  atmospheric 
magic  began  to  fall  upon  the  little  isolated  house,  upon  the 
great  garden  of  oranges  by  which  it  was  encircled.     The 
dry  earth  of  the  alleys  glowed  gently ;  the  narrow  trunks  of 
the  trees  became  delicately  mysterious;  the  leaves  and  the 
treasure  they  guarded  seemed,  in  their  perfect  stillness,  to 
be  full  of  secret  promises.     Still  the  birds  that  dwelled 
among  them  were  singing  to  each  other  softly  the  praises  of 
God. 

Mrs.  Armine  looked  out,  listened  to  the  birds,  while 
the  sun  went  down  in  the  west  she  could  not  see.  And  now 
Magrib  was  over,  and  the  first  time  of  the  Moslem's  prayer 
was  come. 

She  wished  she  need  not  go,  wished  it  so  keenly,  so 
fiercely,  that  she  was  startled  by  her  own  desire  almost  as 
if  it  had  been  a  spectre  rising  suddenly  to  confront  her. 
She  longed  to  remain  in  this  lodge  in  the  wilderness,  to  be 
overtaken  by  the  night  of  the  African  stars  in  the  Villa  of 
the  Night  of  Gold.  Now  she  heard  again  the  far-away 
voice  of  the  fellah  by  the  shaduf,  warning  her  surely  to  go- 
Or  was  it  not,  perhaps,  telling  her  to  stay?  It  was  strange 
how  tha?t  old,  dead  passion,  which  had  metamorphosed  her 
life,  returned  to  her  mind  in  this  land.    In  its  shackles  at 


246  BELLA  DONNA 

first  she  had  struggled.  But  at  last  she  had  abandoned 
herself,  she  had  become  its  prisoner.  She  had  become  its 
slave.  Then  she  was  young.  She  was  able  to  realize  how 
far  more  terrible  must  be  the  fate  of  such  a  slave  who  is 
young  no  longer.  Again  the  fellah  cried  to  her  from  the 
Nile,  and  now  it  seemed  to  her  that  his  voice  was  certainly 
warning  her  that  she  must  withdraw  herself,  while  yet 
there  was  time,  from  the  hands  of  El-Islam — while  yet 
there  was  time ! 

She  had  been  so  concentrated  upon  herself  and  her 
own  fears  and  desires  that,  though  part  of  her  had  been 
surely  thinking  of  Baroudi,  part  of  her  had  forgotten  his 
existence  near  her.  As  a  factor  in  her  life  she  had  been, 
perhaps,  considering  him,  but  not  as  a  man  in  the  room 
behind  her.  The  outside  world,  with  its  garden  of  dreaming 
trees,  its  gleaming  and  dying  lights,  its  voices  of  birds,  and 
more  distant  voice  from  the  Nile,  had  subtly  possessed  her, 
though  it  had  not  given  her  peace.  For  when  passion, 
even  of  no  high  and  ideal  kind,  begins  to  stir  in  a  nature,  it 
rouses  not  only  the  bodily  powers,  but  powers  more  strange 
and  remote — powers  perhaps  seldom  used,  or  for  long  quite 
disregarded;  faculties  connected  with  beauty  that  is  not 
of  man ;  with  odours,  with  lights,  and  with  voices  that  have 
no  yearning  for  man,  but  that  man  takes  to  his  inner 
sanctuary,  as  his  special  possession,  in  those  moments  when 
he  is  most  completely  alive. 

But  now  into  this  outer  world  came  an  intruder  to  break 
a  spell,  yet  to  heighten  for  the  watcher  at  the  window 
fascination  and  terror.  As  the  fellah's  voice  died  away, 
and  Mrs.  Armine  moved,  with  an  intention  surely  of  flight 
from  dangerous  and  inexorable  hands,  Hamza  appeared  at 
a  short  distance  from  her  among  the  orange-trees.  He 
spread  a  garment  upon  the  earth,  folded  his  hands  before 
him,  then  placed  them  upon  his  thighs,  inclined  himself, 
and  prayed.  And  as  he  made  his  first  inclination  of  hum- 
ble worship  in  the  little  room  behind  her  Mrs.  Armine 
heard  a  low  murmuring,  almost  like  the  sound  of  bees  in 
sultry  weather.     She  turned,  and  snw  Baroudi  praying, 


BELLA  DONNA  247 

on  a  prayer-rug  with  a  niche  woven  in  it,  which  was  duly 
set  towards  Mecca. 

She,  the  unbeliever,  was  encompassed  by  prayer.  And 
something  within  her  told  her  that  the  moment  for  flight 
already  lay  behind  her,  that  she  had  let  it  go  by  un- 
heeded, that  the  hands  which  already  had  touched  her 
would  not  relax  their  grasp  until — what? 

She  did  not  answer  that  question. 

But  when  the  fellah  cried  out  once  more  in  the  distance, 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  heard  a  savage  triumph  in  his 
voice. 

XXI 

A  WEEK  later  Mrs.  Armine  received  a  telegram  from 
Cairo : 

' '  Starting  to-night,  arrive  to-morrow  morning.  Love — 
Nigel." 

She  had  been  expecting  such  a  message ;  she  had  known 
that  it  must  come;  yet  when  Hassan  brought  it  into  the 
garden,  where  she  was  sitting  at  the  moment,  she  felt  as 
if  she  had  been  struck.  Hassan  waited  calmly  beside  her 
till,  with  an  almost  violent  gesture,  she  showed  him  there 
was  no  answer.  When  he  had  gone  she  sat  for  a  moment 
with  the  telegram  on  her  knees;  then  she  cried  out  for 
Ibrahim.  He  heard  her  voice,  and  came,  with  his  saunter- 
ing gait,  moving  slowly  among  the  rose-trees. 

*'IVe  a  telegram  from  Cairo,''  she  said. 

She  took  up  the  paper  and  showed  it  to  him. 

''My  lord  Arminigel — he  is  comin'  back?" 

*'Yes." 

''That  is  very  good  noos,  very  nice  noos  indeed,"  said 
Ibrahim,  with  an  air  of  sleepy  satisfaction. 

"He  starts  to-night,  and  will  be  here  with  the  express 
to-morrow  morning." 

"This  is  a  most  bootiful  business!"  said  Ibrahim, 
blandly.  "My  lord  he  has  been  away  so  long  he  will  be 
glad  to  see  us  again." 


248  BELLA  DONNA 

She  looked  at  him,  but  he  did  not  look  at  her.  Turning 
a  flower  in  his  white  teeth,  he  was  gazing  towards  the 
river,  with  an  unruffled  composure  which  she  felt  almost 
as  a  rebuke.  But  why  should  it  matter  to  him?  Baroudi 
had  paid  him.  Nigel  paid  him.  He  had  no  reason  to  be 
upset. 

''When  he  comes,'*  she  said,  "he  will  take  me  away  to 
the  Fayyum.'* 

*'Yes.  The  Faj^um  is  very  nice  place,  very*  good  place 
indeed.  There  is  everythin '  there ;  there  is  jackal,  pidgin, 
duck,  lots  and  lots  of  sugar-cane;  there  is  water,  there  is 
palm-trees;  there  is  everythin'  what  any  one  him  want." 

''Ah!"  she  said. 

She  got  up,  with  a  nervously  violent  movement. 

"What's  the  good  of  all  that  to  you?"  she  said, 
**You're  not  going  with  us  to  the  Fayyum,  I  suppose." 

He  said  nothing. 

"Are  you?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Suttinly." 

"You  are  coming.  How  do  you  know?  Has  Mr. 
Armine  told  you?" 

"My  lord,  he  tell  me  nothin',  but  I  comin*  with  you, 
and  Hamza  him  comin'  too." 

"Hamza  is  coming?" 

"Suttinly." 

She  wa-s  conscious  of  a  sensation  of  relief  that  was  yet 
mingled  with  a  faint  feeling  of  dread. 

"Why — why  should  Hamza  come  with  us?"  she  asked. 

"To  be  your  donkey-boy.  Hamza  he  very  good  donkey- 
boy." 

"I  don't  know — I  am  not  sure  whether  I  shall  want 
Hamza  in  the  Fayyiim." 

Ibrahim  looked  at  her  with  a  smiling  face. 

"In  the  Fayyum  you  will  never  find  good  donkey-boy, 
my  lady,  but  you  will  do  always  what  you  like.  If  you  not 
like  to  take  Hamza,  Hamza  very  sad,  very  cryin'  indeed, 
but  Hamza  he  stay  here.    You  do  always  what  you  think. ' ' 

When  he  had  finished  speaking,  she  knew  that  Hamza 


BELLA  DONNA  249 

vould  accompany  them ;  she  knew  that  Bciroudi  had  ordered 
that  Hamza  was  to  come. 

''We  will  see  later  on/*  she  said,  as  if  she  had  a  will  in 
this  matter. 

She  looked  at  her  watch. 

''It's  time  to  start." 

"The  felucca  him  ready,"  remarked  Ibrahim.  "This 
night  the  Loulia  sailin*;  this  night  the  Loulia  he  go  to 
Armant. '  * 

]\Irs.  Armine  frowned.  Armant — Esneh — ^Kom  Ombos 
. — and  then  Aswan!  The  arbitrariness  of  her  nature  was 
going  to  be  scourged  with  scorpions  by  fate,  it  seemed. 
How  was  she  to  endure  that  scourging?  But — there  was 
to-day.  When  was  she  going  to  learn  really  to  live  for  the 
day?  What  a  fool  she  was!  Still  frowning,  and  without 
saying  another  word,  she  went  upstairs  quickly  to  dress. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  she  returned  to  the  villa. 
There  was  no  moon ;  wind  was  blowing  fiercely,  lashing  the 
Nile  into  waves  that  were  edged  with  foam,  and  whirling 
grains  of  sand  stripped  away  from  the  desert  over  the 
prairies  and  gardens  of  Luxor.  The  stars  were  blotted  out, 
and  the  night  was  cold  and  intensely  dark.  She  held  on 
tightly  to  Ibrahim's  arm  as  she  struggled  up  the  bank 
from  the  river,  and  almost  felt  her  way  to  the  house,  from 
which  only  two  lights  gleamed  faintly.  The  French  win- 
dows of  the  drawing-room  w^ere  locked,  and  they  went  round 
the  house  to  the  front  door.  As  Ibrahirii  put  up  his  hand 
to  ring  the  bell,  a  sudden  fear  came  to  Mrs.  Armine.  Sup- 
pose Nigel  had  started  earlier  from  Cairo  than  he  had 
intended?  Suppose  he  had  returned  and  was  then  in  the 
house?  She  caught  Ibrahim's  hand.  He  said  something 
which  was  carried  away  and  lost  to  her  in  the  wind.  She 
dropped  his  hand ;  he  rang,  and  in  a  moment  the  door  was 
opened  by  Hassan. 

"Ask  him  if — ^if  anything  has  happened,  if  there  is  any 
message,  anything  for  me!"  she  said  to  Ibrahim  directly 
she  was  in  the  house. 

Ibrahim  spoke  to  Hassan  in  Arabic. 


250  BELLA  DONNA 

**My  lady,  he  says  there  is  nothin'/' 

*'Very  well.    I'll  go  to  bed.    Good  night,  Ibrahim." 

And  she  went  upstairs. 

When  she  was  in  her  bedroom  she  shut  the  door  and 
sat  down  just  as  she  was,  with  a  veil  over  her  face,  the 
collar  of  her  dust-coat  turned  up,  her  shining  hair  dis- 
hevelled by  the  angry  hands  of  the  gale.  A  lamp  was 
burning  on  the  dressing-table,  upon  which,  very  oddly 
arranged,  stood  a  number  of  silver  things,  brushes,  bottles, 
boxes,  which  were  usually  in  the  dressing-room.  They 
'Were  set  out  in  a  sort  of  elaborate  and  very  fantastic  pat- 
tern, which  recalled  to  her  sharply  a  fact.  She  had  no 
longer  a  maid.  She  had  got  rid  of  Marie,  who  had  left 
Luxor  on  the  previous  day,  neither  tearful  nor,  apparently, 
angry,  but  looking  sharp,  greedy,  and  half -admiringly 
inquisitive  to  the  very  last.  Mrs.  Artnine  had  come  to  her 
two  days  before  holding  an  open  letter  from  Nigel,  and  had 
announced  to  her  his  decision  that  a  lady's  maid  in  the 
Fayyum  would  be  an  impossibility,  and  that  Marie  woxild 
have  to  be  left  behind,  for  the  time,  at  Luxor.  And  then 
had  followed  a  little  scene  admirably  played  by  the  two 
women;  Mrs.  Armine  deploring  the  apparent  necessity  of 
their  separation,  but  without  undue  feeling  or  any  exag- 
geration; Marie  regretting  ** monsieur's"  determination  to 
carry  **  une  dame  si  delicate,  si  fine"  into  "un  monde  si 
terrible,  si  sauvage/^  but  at  the  same  time  indicating,  with 
a  sly  intention  and  the  most  admirably  submissive  nuances, 
the  impossibility  of  her  keeping  house  in  the  villa  alone 
with  a  group  of  Nubians.  Both  women  had  really  enjoyed 
themselves,  as  talent  must  when  exercising  itself  with 
perfect  adroitness.  Mrs.  Armine  had  regretted  Marie's 
decision,  while  at  the  same  time  applauding  her  maidenly 
delicatesse,  and  had  presently,  by  chance,  discovered  that 
several  charming  purchases  from  Paris  were  no  good  to  her, 
that  two  or  three  remarkably  attractive  gowns  made  her 
look  **like  nothing  at  all,'*  and  that,  as  she  was  going  to 
the  Fayyum,  she  *' couldn't  be  bothered  with"  some  hats 
that  were,  as  Marie  had  often  said,  *'plus  chic  g[ue  le 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  251 

diahle!'^  Then  a  wonderful  *' character"  had  been  written 
out,  signed,  and  had  changed  hands,  with  an  exceedingly 
generous  cheque.  Certain  carelessly  delivered  promises 
had  been  made  which  Marie  knew  would  be  kept.  She 
had  given  a  permanent  address  in  France,  and  the  curtain 
had  slowly  fallen.  Ah,  the  pity  of  it  that  there  had  been  no 
audience!  But  talent,  like  genius,  should  be  its  own  con- 
solation and  reward. 

So  now  Hassan  arranged  Mrs.  Armine's  *' things."  She 
was  thankful  that  Marie  had  gone,  yet  she  felt  utterly  lost 
without  a  maid.  Never,  since  she  was  a  young  girl,  had  she 
been  accustomed  to  do  anything  for  herself  that  a  good 
maid  could  do  for  her.  And  there  was  not  a  woman-servant 
in  the  house.  She  was  tired,  she  was  terribly  strung  up; 
her  nerves  were  all  on  edge ;  her  heart  was  aflame  with  a 
jealousy  which,  she  knew  too  well,  was  destined  to  be 
fanned  and  not  to  be  assuaged  in  the  days  that  lay  before 
her.  And  she  felt  profoundly  depressed.  It  was  awful  to 
come  home  in  such  a  condition  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 
and  to  be  deprived  of  all  one's  comforts.  When  she  saw 
those  silver  things  all  laid  out  wrongly,  the  brushes  pointing 
this  way  and  that,  the  combs  fixed  in  them  with  the  teeth 
upwards,  the  bottles  of  perfume  laid  on  their  sides  instead 
of  standing  erect,  the  powder-boxes  upside  down,  she  felt 
ready  to  cry  her  eyes  out.  And  no  one  to  take  away  her 
hat,  to  loosen  and  brush  her  hair,  to  get  her  out  of  her  gown, 
to  unlace  her  shoes !    And  Nigel  at  nine  o  'clock  to-morrow ! 

The  wind  roared  outside.  One  of  the  hanging  wooden 
shutters  that  protected  the  windows  had  got  loose,  and  was 
now,  at  short  intervals,  striking  against  the  wall  with  a 
violent  sound  that  suggested  to  her  a  malefactor  trying  to 
break  in.  She  knew  what  caused  the  reiterated  noise ;  she 
knew  she  could  probably  stop  it  by  opening  the  window  for 
a  moment  and  putting  out  her  hand.  And  yet  she  felt 
afraid  to  do  this,  afraid  to  put  out  her  hand  into  the  windy 
darkness,  lest  it  should  be  grasped  by  another  hand.  She 
was  full  of  nervous  fears. 

As  she  sat  there,  she  could  scarcely  believe  she  was  in 


252  BELLA  DONNA 

Egypt.  The  roaring  of  the  wind  suggested  some  bleak  and 
Northern  clime.  The  shutter  crashed  against  the  wall.  At 
last  she  could  bear  the  noise  no  longer,  and  she  got  up, 
went  out  on  to  the  landing,  and  called  out :  "Ibrahim !'' 

There  was  no  answer.  The  lights  were  out.  She  felt 
afraid  of  the  yawning  darkness. 

*  *  Ibrahim !    Ibrahim ! ' '  she  cried. 

She  heard  the  sough  of  drapery,  and  a  soft  and  striding 
step.  Somebody  was  coming  quickly.  She  drew  back  into 
her  room,  and  Ibrahim  appeared. 

*'My  lady,  what  you  want?" 

She  pointed  to  the  window. 

*'The  shutter — it's  got  loose.  Can  you  fasten  it?  It's 
making  such  an  awful  noise.  I  shan't  be  able  to  sleep  all 
night." 

He  opened  the  window.  The  wind  rushed  in.  The  lamp 
flared  up  and  went  out. 

For  two  or  three  minutes  Mrs.  Armine  heard  nothing 
but  the  noise  of  the  wind,  which  seemed  to  have  taken  entire 
possession  of  the  chamber,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  were  its 
prey  and  the  prey  of  the  darkness.  Something  that  was 
like  hysteria  seized  upon  her,  a  desperate  terror  of  fate  and 
the  unknown.  In  the  wind  and  in  the  darkness  she  had  a 
grievous  sensation  of  helplessness  and  of  doom,  of  being  lost 
for  ever  to  happiness  and  light.  And  when  the  wind  was 
shut  out,  when  a  match  grated,  a  little  glow  leaped  up,  and 
Ibrahim,  looking  strangely  tall  and  vast  in  the  black  woollen 
abayeh  which  he  had  put  on  as  a  protection  against  the 
cold,  was  partially  revealed,  she  sprang  towards  him  with 
a  feeling  of  unutterable  relief. 

**0h,  Ibrahim,  what  an  awful  night!  I'm  afraid  of 
it ! "  she  said. 

Deftly  ho  lit  the  lamp;  then  he  turned  to  her  and 
stared. 

**My  lady,  you  are  all  white,  like  the  lotus  what  Rameses 
him  carry." 

She  had  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  Now  she  let  it  drop, 
sat  down  on  the  sofa,  unpinned  her  hat  and  veil,  and  threw 
them  down  on  the  floor. 


BELLA  DONNA  253 

**It*s  the  storm.    I  hate  the  sound  of  wind  at  night." 

*  *  The  ginnee  him  ride  in  the  wind, ' '  said  Ibrahim,  very 
seriously. 

' '  The  ginnee !    What  is  that  ? ' ' 

''Bad  spirit.  Him  come  to  do  harm.  Him  bin  in  the 
room  to-night. '  * 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence.  Then  Mrs.  Armine 
said: 

''Is  the  shutter  quite  safe  now?" 

"Suttinly." 

"Then  good  night,  Ibrahim." 

"Good  night,  my  lady." 

He  went  over  to  the  door. 

' '  Suttinly  the  ginnee  him  bin  in  the  room  to-night, ' '  he 
said,  solemnly. 

She  tried  to  smile  at  this  absurdity,  but  her  lips  refused 
to  obey  her  will. 

' '  Who  should  he  come  for  ?  ^ '  she  asked. 

"I  dunno.  P'raps  he  come  to  meet  my  Lord  Armin- 
igel.  It  is  bad  night  to-night.  Mohammed  him  die  to-night. 
Him  die  on  the  night  from  Sunday  Monday." 

He  drooped  morosely  and  went  out,  softly  closing  the 
door  behind  him. 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone  Mrs.  Armine  undressed,  leaving 
her  clothes  scattered  pell-mell  all  over  the  room,  and  got 
into  her  bed.  She  kept  the  lamp  burning.  She  was  afraid 
of  the  dark,  and  she  knew  she  would  not  sleep.  Although 
she  laughed  at  Egyptian  superstition,  as  she  glanced  about 
the  room  she  was  half  unconsciously  looking  for  the 
shadowy  form  of  a  ginnee.  All  night  the  wind  roared,  and 
all  night  she  lay  awake,  wondering,  fearing,  planning, 
imagining,  in  terror  of  the  future,  yet  calling  upon  her 
adroitness,  her  strong  fund  of  resolution,  to  shape  it  as  she 
willed. 

And  she  would  have  helpers — Baroudi,  Ibrahim,  Hamza. 

When  at  dawn  the  wind  died  down,  and  at  last  slumber, 
like  a  soft  wave,  came  stealing  over  her,  the  last  thing  she 
saw  with  her  imagination  was  Hamza,  straight,  enigmatic, 
grave,  holding  an  upright  wand  in  his  hand. 


254>  BELLA  DONNA 

Or  was  it  the  ginnee,  who  had  come  in  out  of  tne  night 
to  meet  ''my  lord  Arminigel"? 


What  was  that?    Was  it  the  ginnee  moving,  speaking? 

Was  it ?     There  had  surely  been  a  movement  in  the 

room,  a  sound.    She  opened  her  eyes,  and  saw  sunshine  and 
some  one  by  the  bed. 

''Ruby!" 

She  blinked,  stared,  lying  perfectly  stilL 
*'Ruby!'* 

She  felt  a  hand  on  one  of  her  hands.  The  touch  finally 
recalled  her  from  sleep,  and  she  knew  the  morning  and 
Nigel.  He  stood  beside  the  bed  in  loose  travelling  clothes, 
dusty,  with  short,  untidy  hair,  and  a  radiant  brown  face, 
looking  down  on  her,  holding  her  hand. 

' '  Did  I  frighten  you  ?  I  didn  't  mean  to.  But  I  thought 
you  must  be  awake  by  now." 

There  was  no  sound  of  reproach  in  his  voice,  but  there 
was  perhaps  just  a  touch  of  disappointment.  She  sat  up, 
leaning  against  the  big  pillow. 

"  And  I  meant  to  be  at  the  station  to  meet  you  !  "  she  said. 

He  sat  down  close  to  the  bed,  still  keeping  his  hand  on 
hers. 

*'Youdid?" 

*'0f  course.  It's  this  horrid  habit  I've  got  into  ot 
lying  awake  at  night  and  sleeping  in  the  morning.  And 
there  was  such  a  storm  last  night." 

*'I  know.    The  ginnee  were  abroad." 

He  spoke  laughingly,  but  she  said : 

*'How  did  you  know  that?" 

"How?    Why,  in  Egypt — but  what  do  you  mean?" 

But  she  had  recovered  herself,  was  now  fully  awake, 
fully  herself,  entirely  freed  from  the  thrall  of  the  night. 

"How  well  you  look!"  she  said. 

' '  Work ! "  he  replied.  ' '  Sun— life  under  the  tent !  It 's 
glorious!  How  I  want  you  to  love  it!  But,  I  say,  shan't 
we  have  some  tea  together?  And  then  I'll  jump  into  a 
bath.  It's  too  cold  for  the  Nile  this  morning.  And  I'm 
all  full  of  dust.    I'll  rinsr  for  ]\rarie." 


BELLA  DONNA  255 

He  moved,  but  she  caught  his  hand. 

*'Nigel!" 

*'Yesr' 

*' Don't  ring  for  Marie.'' 

*'Why  notr' 

*'It  wouldn't  be  any  use.*' 

*' What— is  she  ill?" 

"She's  gone." 

'^Gone!" 

He  looked  at  the  confusion  of  the  room,  at  the  clothes 
strewn  on  the  furniture  and  the  floor. 

''Now  I  understand  all  that,"  he  said.  **But  what  was 
the  matter  ?  Did  she  steal  something,  or — perhaps  I  ought 
to  have  had  another  woman  in  the  house." 

''No,  no;  it  wasn't  that.  I  sent  her  away  quite 
amicably;  because  I  thought  she'd  be  in  our  way  in  the 
Fayytim.    What  could  we  do  with  her  in  a  tent  ? ' ' 

"You're  going  to  manage  without  a  maid?" 

A  radiant  look  of  pleasure  came  into  his  face. 

' '  You  're  a  trump  ! "  he  said. 

He  bent  down,  put  his  hands  gently  on  her  shoulders, 
and  gave  her  a  long  kiss. 

"And  this  is  how  you're  managing!"  he  added,  lifting 
himself  up,  and  speaking  with  a  sort  of  tender  humour  as 
again  he  looked  at  the  room.    ' '  I  mujst  learn  to  maid  you. ' ' 

And  he  went  about  rather  clumsily*  getting  the  things 
together,  picking  them  up  by  the  wrong  end,  and  laying 
them  in  a  heap  on  the  sofa. 

"I'll  do  better  another  time,"  he  said,  when  he  had 
finished,  rather  ruefully  surveying  his  handiwork.  "And 
now  I'll  call  Hassan  and  get  tea,  and  while  we're  having  it 
I'll  tell  you  about  our  camp  in  the  Fayyum.  To  think  of 
your  giving  up  your  maid ! ' ' 

He  kissed  her  again,  with  a  lingering  tenderness,  and 
went  out. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone  she  got  up.  She  had  to  search 
for  a  wrapper.  She  did  not  know  where  any  of  her  things 
were.  How  maddening  it  was  to  be  without  a  maid! 
More  than  once,  now  that  Nigel  was  back  and  she  could  not 


9.56  BELLA  DONNA  , 

go  to  Baroudi,  she  almost  wished  that  she  had  kept  Marie, 
"Would  it  have  been  very  iinwise  to  keep  her  ?  She  pulled  out 
drawer  after  drawer.  She  was  quite  hot  and  tired  before 
she  had  found  what  she  wanted.  What  would  life  be  like 
in  a  tent?  She  almost  sickened  at  the  thought  of  all  that 
was  before  her.  Ah!  here  was  the  wrapper  at  last.  She 
tore  it  out  from  where  it  was  lying  with  reckless 
violence,  and  put  it  on  anyhow;  then  suddenly  her  real 
nature,  the  continuous  part  of  her,  asserted  itself.  She 
went  to  the  mirror  and  adjusted  it  very  carefully,  very 
deftly.  Then  she  twisted  up  her  hair  simply,  and  consid- 
ered herself  for  a  moment. 

Had  the  new  truth  stamped  itself  yet  upon  her  face, 
her  body  ? 

She  saw  before  her  a  woman  strongly,  strikingly  alive, 
thrilling  with  life.  The  eyes,  released  from  sleep,  were 
ardent,  were  full  of  the  promises  of  passion;  the  lips  were 
fresh,  surely,  and  humid;  the  figure  was  alluring  and 
splendid;  the  wonderful  line  of  the  neck  had  kept  all  its 
beauty.  She  had  grown  younger  in  Egypt,  and  she  kne^^ 
very  well  why.  For  her  the  new  truth  was  clearly  stamped, 
but  not  for  Nigel.  He  would  read  it  wrongly;  he  would 
take  it  for  himself,  as  so  many  deceived  men  from  th 
beginning  of  time  have  taken  the  truths  of  women,  think- 
ing **A11  this  is  for  me.'*  She  looked  long  at  herself,  and 
she  rejoiced  in  the  vital  change  that  had  come  over  her,  and, 
rejoicing,  she  came  to  the  resolve  of  a  vain  woman.  She 
must  exert  all  her  will  to  keep  with  her  this  Indian  summer. 
She  must  school  her  nature,  govern  her  passions,  drill  hn- 
mind  to  accept  with  serenity  what  was  to  come — dulness. 
delay,  the  long  fatigues  of  playing  a  part,  the  ennui  of 
tent  life,  of  this  solitude  a  deux  in  the  Fayyum.  She  must 
not  permit  this  opulence  of  beauty  to  be  tarnished  by  th 
ravages  of  jealousy ;  for  jealousy  often  destroys  the  beauty 
of  women,  turns  them  into  hag^^ard  witches.  But  she  would 
not  succumb;  for,  in  her  creed  beauty  was  everything 
to  a  woman,  and  the  woman  who  had  lost  her  beauty  had 
ceased  to  count,  was  scarcely  any  more  to  be  numbered 


BELLA  DONNA  257 

among  the  living.  This  sight  and  appreciation  of  herself 
suddenly  seemed  to  arm  her  at  all  points.  Her  depression, 
which  had  peopled  the  night  with  horrors  and  the  morning 
with  apprehensions,  departed  from  her.  She  was  able  to 
believe  that  the  future  held  golden  things,  because  she  was 
able  to  believe  in  her  own  still  immense  attraction. 

That  day  she  contented  Nigel,  she  fascinated  him,  she 
charmed  him  with  her  flow  of  animal  spirits.  He  could 
deny  her  nothing.  And  when,  laughingly,  she  begged  him, 
as  she  had  dispensed  with  a  maid,  to  let  her  have  her  o\^T3i 
special  donkey-boy  and  donkey  in  the  Fayyum,  he  was 
ready  to  acquiesce. 

"We'll  take  Mohammed,  of  course,  if  you  wish/'  he 
said,  heartily,  "though  there  are  lots  of  donkey-boyls  to 
be  got  where  we  are  going." 

"I've  given  up  Mohammed,"  she  said. 

He  looked  surprised. 

"Have  you?    What's  he  done?" 

"Nothing  specially.    But  I  prefer  Hamza." 

*  ^  The  praying  donkey-boy ! ' ' 

"Yes." 

She  paused;  then,  looking  away  from  him,  she  said 
slowly : 

"There's  something  strange  to  me  and  interesting  about 
him.  I  think  it  comes,  perhaps,  from  his  intense  belief  in 
his  religion,  his  intense  devotion  to  the  Moslem's  faith. 
I — I  can't  help  admiring  that,  and  I  should  like  to  take 
Hamza  with  us.     He's  so  different  from  all  the  others." 

Then,  with  a  changed  and  lighter  tone,  she  added : 

"Besides,  his  donkey  is  the  best  on  the  river.  It  comes 
from  Syria,  and  is  a  perfect  marvel.  Give  me  Hamza,  his 
donkey,  and  Ibrahim  as  my  suite,  and  you  shall  never  hear 
a  complaint  from  me,  I  promise  you." 

"Of  course  you  shall  have  them,"  he  said.  "I  like  the 
man  to  whom  his  beliefs  mean  something,  even  if  they're 
not  mine  and  could  never  be  mine." 

So  the  fate  of  Hamza  and  Ibrahim  was  very  easily 
settled. 
IT 


258  BELLA  DONNA 

But  when  Nigel  called  Ibrahim,  and  told  him  that  he 
had  decided  on  taking  him  and  Hamza  to  the  Fayyum,  and 
that  he  was  to  tell  Ilamza  at  once,  Ibrahim  looked  a  little 
doubtful. 

"All  what  my  gentleman  want  I  do,'*  he  said.  **But 
Hamza  do  much  business  in  Luxor;  I  dunno  if  him  come 
to  the  Fayyum.'* 

He  glanced  deprecatingly  at  Mrs.  Armine. 

**I  very  glad  to  come,  but  about  Hamza  I  dunno." 

He  spoke  with  such  apparent  sincerity  that  she  was 
almost  deceived,  and  thought  that  perhaps  some  difficulty 
had  really  arisen. 

*' Offer  him  his  own  terms/'  exclaimed  Nigel,  **and 
I'll  bet  he'll  be  glad  to  come." 

**I  go  to  see,  my  gentleman." 

''You  shall  have  him,  Ruby,  whatever  his  price,"  said 
Nigel. 

Ibrahim,  with  great  difficulty,  he  said,  made  a  bargain 
with  Hamza,  and  on  the  following  day  the  Villa  Androud 
was  left  in  Hassan's  charge,  and  the  Armines  went  north 
by  the  evening  express  to  Cairo,  where  they  were  to  stay 
two  days  and  nights,  in  order  that  Mrs.  Armine  might  see 
the  Pyramids  and  the  Sphinx.  Nigel  had  already  taken 
rooms  at  the  Mena  House,  with  a  terrace  exactly  opposite 
to  the  Great  Pyramid,  and  giving  on  to  the  sand  of  the 
desert. 

They  breakfasted  at  Shepheard's,  then  hired  a  victoria 
to  drive  up  Ismail's  road  under  the  meeting  lebbek-trees. 
Nigel  was  in  glorious  spirits.  It  seemed  to  him  that  morn- 
ing as  if  his  life  were  culminating,  as  if  he  were  destined 
to  a  joy  of  which  he  was  scarcely  worthy.  An  unworldly 
man,  and  never  specially  fond  of  society  or  anxious  about 
its  edicts  and  its  opinions,  he  did  not  suffer,  as  many  men 
might  have  done,  under  his  knowledge  of  its  surprised  pity 
for  liim,  or  even  contempt.  But  in  his  secret  heart  he  was 
glad  that  he  was  cut  out  of  the  succession  to  his  family's 
title  and  the  estates.  Had  he  succeeded  to  them,  his  posi- 
tion would  at  once  have  become  more  difficult,  his  situation 


BELLA  DONNA  259 

with  Ruby  far  more  complicated.  As  things  were,  they 
two  were  free  as  the  wind.  His  soul  leaped  up  to  their 
freedom. 

' '  I  feel  like  a  nomad  to-day ! "  he  exclaimed.  * '  By  Jove, 
though !  isn  't  the  wind  cold  ?  It  always  blaws  in  the  winter 
over  these  flats.    Wrap  yourself  well  up,  darling." 

He  put  up  his  hand  to  draw  the  furs  more  closely  round 
her.  When  with  her  now  he  so  easily  felt  protective  that 
he  was*  perpetually  doing  little  things  for  her,  and  he  did 
them  with  a  gentleness  of  touch  that,  coming  from  a  man  of 
his  healthy  strength  and  vigour,  revealed  the  progress 
made  by  the  inner  man  in  absence. 

*'I  must  be  your  maid,"  he  added. 

*'But  you'll  be  working  and  shooting,"  she  said,  speak- 
ing out  of  the  depths  of  her  furs  in  a  low  voice. 

Her  face  was  shrouded  in  a  veil  which  seemed  to  muffle 
her  words,  and  he  only  just  heard  them. 

**You  come  first.  I  am  going  to  look  after  you  before 
anything  else, ' '  he  said. 

She  pulled  up  her  veil  till  her  lips  were  free  of  it. 

' '  But  I  want  your  work  to  come  first, ' '  she  said,  speak- 
ing with  more  energy.  ''I  hate  the  woman  who  marries  a 
man  because  she  admires  his  character,  and  who  then  seeks 
by  every  means  to  change  it,  to  reduce  him  from  a  real 
man  to — well,  to  a  sort  of  male  lady's  maid.  No,  Nigel; 
stick  to  your  work,  and  I  '11  manage  all  right. ' ' 

She  felt  just  then  that  she  could  not  endure  it  if  he 
were  always  intent  on  her  in  the  Fayyum.  And  yet  she 
wished  him  to  be  her  slave,  and  she  always  wished  to  be 
adored  by  men.  But  now  there  was  something  within  her 
which  might,  perhaps,  in  the  fulness  of  time  even  get  the 
upper  hand  of  her  vanity. 

"We'll  see,"  he  answered.  ''It'll  be  all  right  about  the 
work,  Ruby.    You  see  the  Pyramids  well  now. ' ' 

She  looked  across  the  flats  to  those  great  tombs  which 
draw  the  world  to  their  feet. 

' '  I  wish  it  wasn  't  so  horribly  cold, ' '  she  said. 

And  Baroudi  was  away  in  the  gold  of  the  south,  and 
perhaps  with  the  *'Full  Moon." 


260  BELLA  DONNA 

*'It  won't  be  half  so  bad  when  we  get  to  Mena  House 
There 's  always  a  wind  on  this  road  in  winter. ' ' 

''And  in  the  Fayyum?    Will  it  be  cold  there?'' 

*'No,  not  like  this.  Only  at  nights  it  gets  cold  some- 
times, and  there's  often  a  thick  mist." 

''A  thick  mist!" 

"But  we  shall  be  warm  and  cosy  in  our  tent,  and  we 
shall  know  nothing  about  it." 

And  the  Loulia  was  floating  up  the  Nile  into  the  heart 
of  the  gold!  Her  heart  sank.  But  then  she  remembered 
her  resolution  in  the  villa.  And  her  vanity,  and  that  which 
a  moment  ago  had  seemed  to  be  fighting  against  it,  clasped 
hands  in  resistant  friendship. 

The  victoria  rolled  smoothly;  the  horses  trotted  fast  in 
the  brisk  air ;  the  line  of  the  desert,  pale  and  vague  in  the 
windy  morning,  grew  more  distinct,  more  full  of  summons ; 
the  orifice  that  was  the  end  of  the  avenue  gaped  like  a 
mouth  that  opens  more  widely.  A  line  of  donkeys  appeared, 
with  here  and  there  a  white  camel  with  tasselled  trappings, 
surrounded  by  groups  of  shouting  Egyptians,  who  stared  at 
the  carriage  with  avaricious  eyes.  **Ah — ah!"  shouted  the 
coachman.  The  horses  broke  into  a  gallop,  turned  into  a 
garden  on  the  right,  and  drew  up  before  the  Mena  House. 

A  minute  later  Mrs.  Armine  was  standing  on  a  terrace 
that  ended  in  a  sea  of  pale  yellow  sand.  Nigel  followed  her, 
but  only  after  some  minutes. 

**You  seem  to  know  everybody  here,"  she  said  to  him, 
in  a  slightly  constrained  voice,  as  he  came  to  stand  beside 
her. 

*'Well,  there  are  several  fellows  from  Cairo  come  here 
to  spend  Sunday." 

''With  their  wives  apparently." 

"Yes,  some  of  them.  Of  course  last  winter  I  got  to 
know  a  good  many  people.  It's  much  warmer  here.  We 
get  all  the  sun,  and  there's  much  less  wind.  And  isn't  the 
Great  Pyramid  grand?" 

He  took  her  gently  by  the  arm. 

"The  Sphinx  is  bej^nd.  I  want  you  to  see  that  for  the 
first  time  just  before  nightfall.  Ruby." 


^  BELLA  DONNA  261 

** Whatever  you  like/*  she  said. 

Her  voice  still  sounded  constrained.  On  the  veranda 
and  in  the  hall  of  the  hotel  she  had  had  to  run  the  gauntlet, 
and  now  that  she  was  married  again,  and  had  abandoned 
the  defiant  life  which  she  had  led  for  so  many  years,  some- 
how she  had  become  less  careless  of  opinion,  of  the  hos- 
tility of  women,  than  she  had  formerly  been.  She  wished 
to  be  accepted  again.  As  Lady  Harwich  she  could  have 
forced  people  to  accept  her. 

As  she  looked  at  the  Great  Pyramid,  she  was  saying  that 
to  herself,  and  Nigel's  words  about  the  Sphinx  fell  upon 
inattentive  ears.  Although  he  did  not  know  it,  in  bringing 
her  to  Mena  House  just  at  this  moment  he  had  taken  a  step 
that  was  unwise.    But  he  was  walking  in  the  dark. 

At  lunch  in  the  great  Arabic  hall  officers  from  the 
garrisons  of  Cairo  and  Abbassieh,  and  their  womenkind, 
were  in  great  force.  Acquaintances  of  Nigel's  sat  at  little 
tables  to  the  right  and  left  of  them.  In  other  parts  of  the 
room  were  scattered  various  well-known  English  people, 
who  stared  at  Mrs.  Armine  when  they  chose  to  imagine  she 
did  not  see  them.  Not  far  off  Lord  and  Lady  Hayman  and 
the  Murchisons  reappeared. 

A  more  effective  irritant  to  Mrs.  Armine's  temper  and 
nerves  at  this  moment  than  this  collection  of  people  afforded 
could  scarcely  have  been  devised  by  her  most  subtle  enemy. 
But  not  by  a  glance  or  movement  did  she  betray  the  fact. 
She  had  had  time  to  recover  herself,  to  regain  perfect  out- 
ward self-control.  But  mthin  her  a  storm  was  raging. 
Into  the  chamber  of  her  soul,  borne  upon  the  wings  of  the 
wind,  were  flocking  the  ginnees  out  of  the  dense  darkness 
of  night.  And  when  the  twilight  came,  throwing  its  pale 
mystery  over  the  desert,  and  the  wonders  the  desert  kept, 
they  had  taken  possession  of  her  spirit. 

The  travellers  who,  during  the  day,  had  peopled  the 
waste  about  the  Pyramids  had  gone  back  to  Cairo  by  tram 
and  carriage,  or  were  at  tea  in  the  hotel,  when  the  Armines, 
mounted  on  donkeys,  rode  through  the  twilight  towards  the 
Sphinx.  They  approached  it  from  behind.  The  wind  had 
quite  gone  down,  and  though  the  evening  was  not  warm. 


262  BELLA  DONNA 

the  sharpness  of  the  morning  had  given  place  to  a  more 
gentle  briskness  that  was  in  place  among  the  sands.  Far 
off,  across  the  plains  and  the  Nile,  the  lights  of  Cairo 
gleamed  against  the  ridges  of  the  IMokattam.  Through  the 
emptj^  silence  of  this  now  deserted  desert  they  rode  in 
silence,  till  before  them,  above  the  grey  waste  of  the  sand, 
a  protuberance  arose. 

''Do  you  see  that.  Ruby?''  Nigel  said,  pulling  at  his 
donkey's  rein. 

''That  thing  like  a  gigantic  mushroom?  Yes.  What 
is  it?'' 

*'The  Sphinx." 

*'That!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  but  only  the  back  of  its  head.  All  the  body  is 
concealed.  Wait  till  you've  ridden  round  it  and  seen  it 
from  the  front." 

She  said  nothing,  and  they  rode  on  till  they  came  to 
the  edge  of  the  deep  basin  in  which  the  sacred  monster  lies 
with  the  sand  and  its  ceaseless  fame  about  it,  till  they  had 
skirted  the  basin's  rim,  and  faced  it  full  on  the  farther 
bank.  There  they  dismounted,  and  Nigel  ordered  their 
donkey-boys  to  lead  the  beasts  away  till  they  were  out  of 
earshot.  The  dry  sound  of  their  tripping  feet,  over  the 
stones  and  hard  earth  which  edged  the  sand  near  by,  soon 
died  down  into  the  twilight,  and  the  Armines  were  left 
alone. 

Although  the  light  of  day  was  rapidly  failing,  it  had 
not  entirely  gone ;  day  and  night  joined  hands  in  a  twilight 
mystery  which  seemed  not  only  to  fall  from  the  sky,  so  soon 
to  be  peopled  with  stars,  but  also  to  rise  from  the  pallor 
of  the  sands,  and  to  float  about  the  Sphinx.  In  the  distance 
the  Great  PjTamid  was  black  against  the  void. 

IMrs.  Armine  at  first  stood  perfectly  still  looking  at  tho 
monster.  Then  she  made  Nigel  a  sign  tc  spread  her  dust- 
cloak  upon  the  ridge  of  the  sand,  and  she  sat  down  on  it, 
and  looked  again.  She  did  not  speak.  The  pallor  of  the 
twilight  began  to  grow  dusky,  as  if  into  its  yellow  grey  and 
grey  white,  from  some  invisible  source  a  shadowy  black 


m 


BELLA  DONNA  263 

■was  filtering.  A  cool  air  stirred,  coming  from  far  away 
where  the  sands  stretch  out  towards  the  Gold  Coast.  It 
failed,  then  came  again,  with  a  slightly  greater  force,  a 
more  definite  intention. 

Nigel  was  standing,  but  presently,  as  Ruby  did  not 
move,  he  sat  down  beside  her,  and  clasped  his  brown  hands 
round  his  knees  so  tightly  that  they  went  white  at  the 
knuckles.  He  stole  a  glance  at  her,  and  thought  that  her 
face  looked  strangely  fixed  and  stern,  almost  cruel  in  its 
repose,  and  he  turned  his  eyes  once  more  towards  the 
Sphinx. 

And  then  he  forgot  Ruby,  he  forgot  Egypt,  he  forgot 
everything  except  that  greatest  creation  which  man  has 
ever  accomplished;  that  creation  which  by  its  inexorable 
calm  and  prodigious  power  rouses  in  some  hearts  terror 
and  sets  peace  in  some,  stirs  some  natures  to  aspiration,  and 
crushes  others  to  the  ground  with  an  overw^helming  sense 
of  their  impotence,  their  smallness,  their  fugitive  existence, 
and  their  dark  and  mysterious  fate. 

Upon  Mrs.  Armine  the  effect  of  the  Sphinx,  whatever 
it  might  have  been  at  a  less  critical  moment  in  her  life,  at 
this  moment  was  cruel.  The  storm  had  broken  upon  her 
and  she  faced  the  uttermost  cahn.  She  was  the  prey  of 
conflicting  forces,  wild  beasts  of  which  herself  was  the  cage. 
And  she  was  confronted  by*  the  beast  of  the  living  rock 
which,  in  its  almost  ironic  composure,  its  power  purged  of 
passion,  did  it  deign  to  be  aware  of  her  she  felt  could  only, 
with  a  strange  stillness,  mock  her.  She  was  a  believer  only 
in  the  little  life,  and  here  lay  the  conception  of  Eternity, 
struck  out  of  the  stone  of  the  waste  by  man,  to  say  to  her 
with  its  motionless  lips,  *'Thou  fool!"  And  as  she  had 
within  her  resolution,  will,  and  an  unsleeping  vanity,  this 
power  which  confronted  her  not  only  dimly  distressed, 
but  angered  her.  She  felt  angry  with  Nigel.  She  forgot, 
or  chose  not  to  remember,  that  the  Sphinx  w^as  the  won- 
der of  the  world,  and  she  said  to  herself  that  she  knew 
very  well  why  Nigel  had  brought  her  by  night  to  see  it. 
He  had  brought  her  to  be  chastened,  he  had  brought  her  to 


264  BELLA  DONNA 

be  rebuked.  In  the  heat  of  her  nervous  fancy  it  almost 
seemed  to  her  for  a  moment  as  if  he  had  divined  something 
of  the  truth  that  was  in  her,  truth  that  struck  hard  at  him, 
and  his  hopes  of  happiness,  and  all  his  moral  designs,  and 
as  if  he  had  brought  her  to  be  punished  by  the  Sphinx. 
In  the  grasp  of  the  monster  she  writhed,  and  she  hated  her- 
self for  writhing.  Once  in  her  presence  Baroudi  had 
sneered  at  the  Sphinx.  Now  she  remembered  his  very 
words:  **We  Egyptians,  we  have  other  things  to  do  than 
to  go  and  stare  at  the  Sphinx.  We  prefer  to  enjoy  our 
lives  while  we  can,  and  not  to  trouble  about  it. "  *  She 
remembered  the  shrug  of  his  mighty  shoulders  that  had 
accompanied  the  words.  Almost  she  could  see  them  and 
their  disdainful  movement  before  her.  Yes,  the  Sphinx 
was  fading  away  in  the  night,  and  Baroudi  was  there  in 
front  of  her.  His  strong  outline  blotted  out  from  her  the 
outline  of  the  Sphinx.  The  evening  star  came  out,  and  the 
breeze  arose  again  from  its  distant  place  in  the  sands,  and 
whispered  round  the  Sphinx. 

She  shivered,  and  got  up. 

*  *  Let  us  go ;  I  want  to  go, ' '  she  said. 

*' Isn't  it  wonderful,  Ruby?" 

'*Yes.    Where  are  the  Arabs?" 

She  could  no  longer  quite  conceal  her  secret  agitation,  but 
Nigel  attributed  it  to  a  wrong  cause,  and  respected  it.  The 
Sphinx  always  stirred  powerfully  the  spiritual  part  of 
him,  made  him  feel  in  every  fibre  of  his  being  that  man  is 
created  not  for  time,  but  for  Eternity.  He  believed  that  it 
had  produced  a  similar  effect  in  Ruby.  That  this  effect 
should  distress  her  did  not  surprise  him,  but  roused  in  his 
heart  a  great  tenderness  towards  her,  not  unlike  the  ten- 
derness of  a  parent  who  sees  the  tears  of  a  child  flow  after 
a  punishment  the  justice  of  which  is  realized.  The  Sphinx 
had  made  her  understand  intensely  the  hatefulness  of 
certain  things. 

When  he  had  helped  her  on  to  her  donkey  he  kept  his 
arm  about  her. 

**Do  you  realize  what  it  has  been  to  me  to  see  the 
Sphinx  with  you?"  he  whispered. 


BELLA  DONNA  265 

The  night  had  fallen.  In  the  darkness  they'  went  away 
across  the  desert. 

And  the  Sphinx  lay  looking  towards  the  East,  where 
the  lights  of  Cairo  shone  across  the  flats  under  the  ridges 
of  the  Mokattam. 

XXII 

The  Fayyum  is  a  great  and  superb. oasis  situated  upon 
a  plateau  of  the  desert  of  Libya,  wonderfully  fertile,  rich, 
and  bland,  with  a  splendid  climate,  and  springs  of  sweet 
waters  which,  carefully  directed  into  a  network  of  chan- 
nels, spreading  like  wrinkles  over  the  face  of  the  land,  carry 
life  and  a  smiling  of  joy  through  the  crowding  palms,  the 
olive  and  fruit  trees,  the  corn  and  the  brakes  of  the  sugar- 
cane. The  Egyptians  often  call  it  ''the  country  of  the 
?-oses,''  and  they  say  that  everything  grows  there.  The 
fellah  thinks  of  it  as  of  a  Paradise  where  man  can  only 
be  happy.  Every  Egyptian  who  has  ever  set  the  butt  end 
of  a  gun  against  his  shoulder  sighs  to  be  among  its  multi- 
tudinous game.  The  fisherman  longs  to  let  down  his  net 
into  the  depths  of  its  sacred  lake.  The  land-owner  would 
rather  have  a  few  acres  between  Sennoures  and  Beni  Suwef 
than  many  in  the  other  parts  of  Egypt.  The  man  who  is 
amorous  yearns  after  the  legendary  beauty  of  its  unveiled 
women,  with  their  delicately  tattooed  chins,  their  huge 
eyes,  and  their  slim  and  sinuous  bodies.  And  scarcely  is 
there  upon  the  Nile  a  brown  boy  whose  face  will  not  gleam 
and  grow  expressive  with  desire  at  the  sound  of  the  words 
*'E1-Fayyum.'' 

It  is  a  land  of  Goshen,  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and 
honey,  a  land  of  the  heart's  desire,  this  green  tract  of 
sweet  and  gracious  fertility  to  which  the  Bahr-Yusuf  is 
kind. 

But  to  Mrs.  Armine  it  was  from  the  very  first  a  hateful 
land. 

Their  camp  was  pitched  on  a  piece  of  brown  waste 
ground,  close  to  a  runlet  of  water,  near  a  palm-grove  that 


&66  BELLA  DONNA 

shut  out  from  them  the  native  houses  of  the  great  village 
or  country  town  of  Sennoures.  The  land  which  Nigel's 
fellahin  were  reclaiming  and  had  reclaimed — for  much  of  it 
was  already  green  with  luxuriant  crops — was  farther  away, 
where  the  oasis  runs  flush  with  the  pale  yellow,  or  honey- 
coloured,  or  sometimes  spectral  grey  sands  of  the  desert 
of  Libya.  But  Nigel,  when  he  first  came  to  the  Fayyum, 
had  first  gone  into  camp  among  the  palms  of  Sennoures, 
and  there  had  heard  the  Egyptian  Pan  in  the  night;  and 
he  wanted  to  renew  certain  impressions,  to  feel  them  decked 
out,  as  it  were,  with  novel  graces  now  that  he  was  no  longer 
lonely;  so  he  had  ordered  the  camp  to  be  pitched  by  the 
little  stream  that  he  knew,  in  order  to  savour  fully  the 
great  change  in  his  life. 

The  railway  from  Cairo  goes  to  Sennoures,  so  they 
came  by  train,  and  arrived  rather  late  in  the  afternoon. 
Three  days  later  the  Sacred  Carpet  was  to  depart  from 
Cairo  on  its  journey  to  Mecca,  and  at  Madinat-al-Fayyum, 
and  at  other  stations  along  the  route,  there  were  throngs 
of  natives  assembled  to  bid  farewell  to  the  pilgrims  who 
were  departing  to  accompany  it  and  to  worship  at  the  Holy 
Places.  Small  and  cheap  flags  of  red  edged  with  a  crude 
yellow  fluttered  over  the  doors  or  beneath  the  hanging 
shutters  of  many  dwellings,  and  the  mild  and  limpid  atmos- 
phere was  full  of  the  chanting  of  the  songs  of  pilgrimage 
in  high  and  nasal  voices.  Once  at  a  roadside  station  there 
was  for  some  unexplained  reason  a  long  delay,  during 
which  Mrs.  Armine  sat  at  the  window  and  looked  out  upon 
the  crowd,  while  Nigel  got  down  to  stretch  his  legs  and  see 
the  people  at  closer  quarters.  Loud  and  almost  angry 
hymns  rose  up  not  only  from  some  of  the  starting  pilgrims, 
but  also  from  many  envious  ones  who  would  never  be 
"hajjee.'*  Presently,  just  before  the  carriage  door,  a 
strange  little  group  was  formed;  a  broad,  sturdy  man  with 
a  brutal,  almost  white-skinned  face  garnished  with  a  bris- 
tling black  beard  but  no  moustache,  who  wore  the  green 
turban,  an  elderly  man  with  staring,  sightless  eyes,  carry- 
ing a  long  staff,  and  three  heavily  veiled  women,  in  thin 


BELLA  DONNA  267 

robes  partially  covered  with  black,  loose-sleeved  cloaks, 
whose  eyelids  were  thickly  adorned  with  kohl,  whose  hands 
were  dyed  a  deep  orange-colour  with  the  henna,  and  who 
rattled  and  clinked  as  they  moved  and  the  barbaric  orna- 
ments of  silver  and  gold  which  circled  their  arms  and 
ankles  shifted  upon  their  small-boned  limbs.  The  blind 
man  was  singing  loudly.  The  women,  staring  vacantly, 
held  the  corners  of  their  cloaks  mechanically  to  their 
already  covered  faces.  The  man  with  the  bristling  beard 
talked  violently  with  friends,  and  occasionally,  interrupt- 
ing himself  abruptly,  joined  almost  furiously  in  the  blind 
man's  hymn.  On  the  platform  lay  a  few  bundles  wrapped 
in  gaudy  cloths  and  handkerchiefs.  From  outside  the 
station  came  the  perpetual  twittering  of  women. 

As  Mrs.  Armine  looked  at  these  people  Nigel  came  up. 

**They  are  going  to  Mecca,''  he  said.  "You  see  those 
bundles?  The  poor  things  will  be  away  for  months,  and 
that  is  all  they  are  taking." 

The  blind  man  shouted  his  hymn.  Fixing  his  small 
and  vicious  eyes  upon  Mrs.  Armine,  the  man  with  the  beard 
joined  in.  A  horn  sounded.  Nigel  got  into  the  carriage, 
and  the  train  moved  slowly  out  of  the  station.  Mrs. 
Armine  stared  at  the  man  with  the  beard,  who  kept  his 
eyes  upon  her,  always  roaring  his  hymn,  until  he  was  out 
of  sight.  His  expression  was  actively  wicked.  Yet  he  was 
starting  at  great  expense  with  infinite  hardships  before  him, 
to  visit  and  pray  at  the  Holy  Places.  She  remembered 
how  Baroudi  had  stared  at  her  while  he  sang. 

**What  strange  people  they  are!"  said  Nigel. 

*'Yes,  they  are  very  strange." 

* '  One  can  never  really  know  them.  There  is  an  eternal 
barrier  between  us,  the  great  stone  wall  of  their  faith. 
To-day  all  the  world  seems  going  on  pilgrimage.  We  too, 
Ruby!" 

Even  at  Sennoures,  when  they  got  down,  the  station  was 
crowded,  and  the  air  was  alive  with  hymns.  Ibrahim  met 
them,  and  Hamza  was  outside  the  fence  with  the  donkey 


268  BELLA  DONNA 

for  Mrs.  Armine.  He  was  joining  in  the  singing,  and  his 
long  eyes  held  a  flame.  But  when  he  saw  Mrs.  Armine, 
his  voice  ceased,  and  he  looked  at  her  in  silence.  As  she 
greeted  him,  she  felt  an  odd  mingled  sensation  of  fear  and 
of  relief.  He  was  a  link  between  her  and  Baroudi,  yet  he 
looked  a  fatal  figure,  and  she  could  never  rid  herself  of 
the  idea  that  some  harm,  or  threatening  of  great  danger, 
would  come  to  her  through  him. 

As  the^j^  left  the  station  and  rode  towards  the  palm- 
trees,  the  noise  of  the  hymns  grew  less,  but  even  when  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  tents  the  voices  of  the  pilgrims  were 
still  faintly  audible,  stealing  among  the  wrinkled  trunks, 
through  the  rich,  rankly  growing  herbage,  over  the  running 
waters,  to  make  a  faint  music  of  religion  about  their 
nomad's  home. 

But  after  sunset  the  voices  died  away.  The  train  had 
carried  the  pilgrims  towards  Cairo,  and,  trooping  among 
the  palm-trees,  or  along  the  alleys  of  Sennoures,  the  crowd 
dispersed  to  their  homes. 

And  a  silence  fell  over  this  opulent  land,  which  already 
Mrs.  Armine  hated. 

She  hated  it  as  a  woman  hates  the  place  which  in  her 
life  is  substituted  for  the  place  where  is  the  man  who  has 
grasped  her  and  holds  her  fast,  whatever  the  dividing  dis- 
tance between  them. 

That  night,  as  she  sat  in  the  tent,  she  saw  before  her 
the  orange  garden  that  bordered  the  Nile,  the  wild  gera- 
niums making  a  hedge  about  the  pavilion  of  bamboo,  she 
heard  the  loud  voice  of  the  fellah  by  the  shaduf.  Was  it 
raised  in  protest  or  warning?  Did  she  care?  Could  she 
care?  Could  any  voice  stop  her  from  following  the  voice 
that  called  her  on  ?  And  what  was  it  in  Baroudi  that  made 
his  summons  to  her  so  intense,  so  arbitrary?  What  was 
it  in  him  that  governed  her  so  completely?  Now  that  he 
was  far  away  she  could  ask  herself  a  question  that  she  could 
not  ask  when  she  was  near  him. 

He  was  splendid  in  physique,  but  so  were  other  men 
whom  she  had  known  and  ruled,  not  been  ruled  by.    He 


BELLA  DONNA  269 

was  bold,  perhaps  indifferent  at  bottom,  though  sometimes, 
in  certain  moments,  on  the  surface  far  from  indifferent. 
Others  had  been  like  that,  and  she  had  not  loved  them. 
He  was  intensely  passionate.  (But  Nigel  was  passionate, 
though  he  kept  a  strong  hand  upon  the  straining  life  of 
his  nature.)     He  was  very  strange. 

He  was  very  strange.  She  understood  and  could  not 
understand  him.  He  was  very  strange,  and  full  of  secret 
violence  in  which  religion  and  vice  went  hand  in  hand. 
And  his  religion  was  not  canting,  nor  was  his  vice  ashamed. 
The  one  was  as  bold  and  as  determined  as  the  other.  She 
seemed  to  grasp  him,  and  did  not  grasp  him.  Such  a 
failure  piques  a  woman,  and  out  of  feminine  pique  often 
rises  feminine  passion.  He  was  intent  upon  her.  Yet 
part  of  him  escaped  her.  Did  he  love  her?  She  did  not 
know.  She  knew  he  drove  her  perpetually  on  towards 
greater  desire  of  him.  Yet  even  that  driving  action  might 
not  be  deliberate  on  his  part.  He  seemed  too  careless  to 
plot,  and  yet  she  knew  that  he  plotted.  Was  he  now  at 
Aswan  with  some  dancing-girl  of  his  own  people  ?  Not  one 
word  had  she  heard  of  him  since  the  day  which  had  pre- 
ceded the  night  of  the  storm  when  the  ginnee  had  come  in 
the  wind.  Abruptly  he  had  gone  out  of  her  life.  At  their 
last  meeting  he  had  said  nothing  about  any  further  inter- 
course. Yet  she  knew  that  he  meant  to  meet  her  again, 
that  he  meant — w^hat?  His  deep  silence  did  not  tell  her. 
She  could  only  wonder  and  suspect,  and  govern  herself 
to  preserve  the  bloom  of  her  beauty,  and,  looking  at 
Ibrahim  and  Hamza,  trust  to  his  intriguing  cleverness  to 
''manage  things  somehow."  Yet  how  could  they  be  man- 
aged? She  looked  at  the  future  and  felt  hopeless.  What 
was  to  come?  She  knew  that  even  if,  driven  by  passion, 
she  were  ready  to  take  some  mad,  decisive  step,  Baroudi 
would  not  permit  her  to  take  it.  He  had  never  told  her  so, 
but  instinctively  she  knew  it.  If  he  meant  anjrthing,  it 
was  something  quite  different  from  that.  He  must  mean 
something,  he  must  mean  much;  or  why  was  Hamza  out 
here  in  the  green  depths  of  the  Fayyum? 


270  BELLA  DONNA 

Nigel  had  gone  to  Sennoures  to  order  provisions,  leav- 
ing her  to  rest  after  the  journey  from  Cairo.  She  got  up 
from  the  sofa  in  the  sitting-room  tent,  which  was  com- 
fortable in  a  very  simple  way  but  not  at  all  luxurious, 
went  to  the  opening,  and  looked  out. 

Night  had  fallen,  the  stars  were  out,  and  a  small  moon, 
round  which  was  a  luminous  ring  of  vapour,  lit  up  the 
sky,  which  was  partially  veiled  by  thin  wreaths  of  cloud. 
The  densely  growing  palms  looked  like  dark  wands  tufted 
with  enormous  bunches  of  feathers.  Among  them  she  saw 
a  light.  It  came  from  a  tent  pitched  at  some  distance,  and 
occupied  by  a  middle-aged  German  lady  who  was  travelling 
with  a  handsome  young  Arab.  They  had  passed  on  the 
road  close  by  the  camp  when  the  Armines  were  having  tea, 
and  Nigel  had  asked  Ibrahim  about  them.  Mrs.  Armine 
remembered  the  look  on  his  face  when,  having  heard  their 
history,  he  had  said  to  her,  ^' Those  are  the  women  who 
ruin  the  Europeans '  prestige  out  here. ' '  She  had  answered, 
^^That  is  a  thing  I  could  never  understand!"  and  had 
begun  to  talk  of  other  matters,  but  she  had  not  forgotten 
his  look.     If — certain  things — she  might  be  afraid  of  Nigel. 

Dogs  barked  in  the  distance.  She  heard  a  faint  noise 
from  the  runlet  of  water  in  front  of  the  camp.  From  the 
heavily-cumbered  ground,  smothered  -with  growing  things 
except  just  where  the  tents  were  pitched,  rose  a  smell  that 
seemed  to  her  autumnal.  Along  the  narrow  road  that  led 
between  the  palms  and  the  crops  to  the  town,  came  two  of 
their  men  leading  in  riding  camels.  A  moment  later  a 
bitter  snarling  rose  up,  mingling  with  the  barking  of  the  dogs 
and  the  sound  of  the  water.  The  camels  were  being 
picketed  for  the  night's  repose.  The  atmosphere  was  not 
actually  cold,  but  there  was  no  golden  warmth  in  the  air, 
and  the  wonderful  and  exquisitely  clean  dryness  of  Upper 
Egypt  was  replaced  by  a  sort  of  rich  humidity,  now  that 
the  sun  was  gone.  The  vapour  around  the  moon,  the  smell 
of  the  earth,  the  distant  sound  of  the  dogs  and  the  near 


BELLA  DONNA  271 

Bound  of  the  water,  the  feeling  of  dew  which  hang 
wetly  about  her,  and  the  gleam  of  the  light  from  that 
tent  distant  among  the  palm-trees,  made  Mrs.  Armine 
feel  almost  unbearably  depressed.  She  longed  with  all  her 
soul  to  be  back  at  Luxor.  And  it  seemed  to  her  incredible 
that  any  one  could  be  happy  here.  Yet  Nigel  was  perfectly 
happy  and  every  Egyptian  longed  to  be  in  the  Fayyum. 

The  sound  of  the  name  seemed  to  her  desolate  and  sad. 

But  Baroudi  meant  something.  Even  now  she  saw 
Hamza,  straight  as  a  reed,  coming  down  the  shadowy  track 
from  the  town.  She  must  make  Nigel  happy — and  wait. 
She  must  make  Nigel  very  happy,  lest  she  should  fall  below 
Baroudi 's  estimate  of  her,  lest  she  should  prove  herself 
less  clever,  less  subtle,  than  she  felt  him  to  be. 

Hamza 's  shadowy  figure  crossed  a  little  bridge  of  palm- 
wood  that  spanned  the  runlet  of  water,  turned  and  came 
over  the  waste  ground  noiselessly  into  the  camp.  He  was 
walking  with  naked  feet.  He  came  to  the  men's  tent, 
where,  in  a  row,  with  their  faces  towards  the  tent  door,  the 
camels  were  Ijang,  eating  barley  that  had  been  spread  out 
for  them  on  bits  of  sacking.  When  he  reached  it  he  stood 
still.    He  was  shrouded  in  a  black  abayeh. 

*'Hamza!'' 

Mrs.  Armine  had  called  to  him  softly  from  the  tent- 
door. 

*'Hamza!'' 

He  flitted  across  the  open  space  that  divided  the  tents, 
and  stood  beside  her. 

She  had  never  had  any  conversation  with  Hamza.  She  had 
never  heard  him  say  any  English  word  yet  but  "yes." 
But  to-night  she  had  an  uneasy  longing  to  get  upon  terms 
with  him.  For  he  was  Baroudi 's  emissary  in  the  camp  of 
the  Fayyum. 

''Are  you  glad  to  be  in  my  service,  Hamza?"  she  said. 
**Are  you  glad  to  come  with  us  to  the  Fayyum?" 

*'Yes,"  he  said. 

She  hesitated.     There  was  always  something  in  his 


272  BELLA  DONNA 

appearance,  in  his  manner,  which  seemed  to  fend  her  off 
from  him.  She  always  felt  as  if  with  his  mind  and  soul 
he  was  pushing  her  away.    At  last  she  said: 

*'Do  you  like  me,  Hamza?" 

*'Yes,''  he  replied. 

**You  have  been  to  Mecca,  haven't  you,  with  Mahmoud 
Baroudir' 

''Yes.'' 

He  muttered  the  word  this  time.  His  hands  had  been 
hanging  at  his  sides,  concealed  in  his  loose  sleeves,  but  now 
they  were  moved,  and  one  went  quickly  up  to  his  breast, 
and  stayed  there. 

''What  are  you  doing?"  Mrs.  Armine  said,  with  a 
sudden  sharpness;  and,  moved  by  an  impulse  she  could 
not  have  explained,  she  seized  the  hand  at  his  heart,  and 
pulled  it  towards  her.  By  the  light  of  the  young  moon  she 
saw  that  it  was  grasping  tightly  a  sort  of  tassel  made  of 
cowries  which  hung  round  his  neck  by  a  string.  He  cov- 
ered the  shells  with  his  fingers,  and  showed  his  teeth.  She 
let  his  hand  go. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

*'Yes,"  he  answered. 

She  turned  and  went  into  the  tent,  and  he  flitted  away 
like  a  shadow. 

That  night,  when  Nigel  came  in  from  Sennoures,  she 
said  to  him: 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  those  tassels  made  of  shells 
that  Egyptians  sometimes  wear  round  their  necks?" 

"What  sort  of  shells?"  he  asked. 

"Cowries." 

"Cowries — oh,  they're  supposed  to  be  a  charm  against 
the  evil  eye  and  bad  spirits.    Where  have  you  seen  one?" 

"On  a  donkey-boy  up  the  Nile,  at  Luxor." 

She  changed  the  conversation. 

They  were  sitting  at  dinner  on  either  side  of  a  folding 
table  that  rested  on  iron  legs.  Beneath  their  feet  was  a 
gaudy  carpet,  very  thick  and  of  a  woolly  texture,  and  so 
large  that  it  completely  concealed  the  hard  earth  within 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  273 

the  circle  of  the  canvas,  which  had  a  lining  of  deep  red, 
■covered  with  an  elaborate  pattern  in  black,  white,  yellow, 
blue,  and  green.  The  tent  was  lit  up  by  an  oil-lamp,  round 
which  several  night  moths  revolved,  occasionally  striking 
against  the  globe  of  glass.  The  tent-door  was  open,  and 
just  outside  stood  Ibrahim,  with  his  head  and  face  wrapped 
up  in  a  shawl  with  flowing  fringes,  to  see  that  the  native 
waiter  did  his  duty  properly.  Through  the  opening  came 
the  faint  sound  of  running  water  and  the  distant  noise  of 
the  persistent  barking  of  dogs.  The  opulent  smell  of  the 
rich  and  humid  land  penetrated  into  the  tent  and  mingled 
-with  the  smell  from  the  dishes. 

Nigel's  face  was  radiant.  They  had  got  right  away  from 
modern  civilization  into  the  wilds,  and,  manlike,  he  felt 
perfectljf  happy.  He  looked  at  Ruby,  seeking  a  reflection 
of  his  joy,  yet  a  little  doubtful,  too,  realizing  that  this  was 
an  experiment  for  her,  while  to  him  it  was  an  old  story  to 
which  she  was  supplying  the  beautiful  interest  of  love. 
She  answered  his  look  with  one  that  set  his  mind  at  rest, 
which  thrilled  him,  yet  which  only  drew  from  him  the 
prosaic  remark: 

"The  cook  isn't  so  bad,  is  he,  Euby?" 

''Excellent,"  she  said.  "I  don't  know  when  I've  had 
such  a  capital  dinner.    How  can  he  do  it  all  in  a  tent?" 

She  moved  her  chair. 

"This  table's  a  little  bit  low,"  she  said.  "But  I've  no 
business  to  be  so  tall.  In  camp  one  ought  to  be  the  regula- 
tion size." 

"Have  you  been  uncomfortable?"  he  exclaimed, 
anxiously. 

"No,  no — ^not  really.    It  doesn't  matter." 

"I'll  have  it  altered,  made  higher  somehow,  to-morrow. 
We  must  have  everything  right,  as  we're  going  to  live  in 
camp  for  some  time." 

She  got  up. 

"I  won't  take  coffee  to-night,"  she  said.  "It  would 
be  too  horrid  to  sleep  badly  in  a  tent. ' ' 

"You'll  see,  you'll  sleep  splendidly  out  here.  Every 
T8 


274  BELLA  DONNA 

one  does  in  camp.  One  is  always  in  the  air,  and  one  gets 
thoroughly  done  by  the  evening. ' ' 

*'Yes,  but  I  shan't  be  working  so  hard  as  you  do.'* 

She  went  to  the  tent-door. 

*'How  long  shall  we  be  in  the  Fayyum?''  she  asked, 
carelessly.     *  *  How  long  were  you  in  it  last  year  ? '  * 

' '  Off  and  on  for  nearly  six  months. ' ' 

She  said  nothing.    He  struck  a  match  and  lit  a  oigar. 

*'But  of  course  now  it's  different,"  he  said.  "If  you 
like  it,  we  can  stay  on,  and  if  you  don't  we  can  go  back 
presently  to  the  villa." 

"And  your  work?" 

* '  I  ought  to  be  here,  so  I  hope  you  will  like  it,  Ruby. ' ' 

He  joined  her  at  the  tent-door. 

"But  this  winter  I  mean  to  live  for  you,  and  to  try  to 
make  you  happy.  We'll  just  see  how  you  like  being  here. 
Do  you  think  you  will  like  it?  Do  you  feel,  as  I  do,  the 
joy  of  being  in  such  perfect  freedom?" 

He  put  his  arm  inside  hers. 

"It's  a  tremendous  change  for  you,  but  is  it  a  happy 
change?"  he  asked. 

"It's  wonderful  here,"  she  answered;  "but  it's  so 
Btrange  that  I  shall  have  to  get  accustomed  to  it." 

As  she  spoke,  she  was  longing,  till  her  soul  seemed  to 
ache,  to  take  the  early  morning  train  to  Cairo.  Accus- 
tomed for  years  to  have  all  her  caprices  obeyed,  all  her 
whims  indulged  by  men,  she  did  not  know  how  she  was 
going  to  endure  this  situation,  which  a  passionate  love 
alone  could  have  made  tolerable.  And  the  man  by  her  side 
had  that  passionate  love  which  made  the  dreary  Fayyum 
his  Heaven.  She  could  almost  have  struck  him  because  he 
was  so  happy. 

"There's  one  thing  I  must  say  I  should  love  to  do 
before  we  go  away  from  Egypt,"  she  said,  slowly. 

She  seemed  to  be  led  or  even  forced  to  say  it. 

"What's  that?" 

"I  should  love  to  go  up  the  Nile  on  a  dahabeeyah." 

"Then  you  shall.    When  w^e  leave  here  and  pass  through 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  275 

Cairo,  I'll  pick  out  a  boat,  and  we'll  send  it  up  to  Luxor^ 
go  on  board  there,  and  then  sail  for  Assouan.  But  you 
mustn't  think  we  shall  get  a  Loulia." 

He  laughed. 

*' Millionaires  like  Baroudi  don't  hire  out  their  boats," 
he  added.  ''And  if  they  did,  I  couldn't  pay  their  price 
while  Etchingham's  so  badly  let." 

Her  forehead  was  wrinkled  by  a  frown.  She  hated  to 
hear  a  man  who  loved  her  speak  of  his  poverty.  It  had 
become  a  habit  of  her  mind  to  think  that  no  man  had  a 
right  to  love  her  unless  he  could  give  her  exactly  what  she 
wanted. 

''Shall  we  go  out.  Ruby?" 

*' Very  well." 

They  stepped  out  on  to  the  waste  ground.  His  hand 
was  still  on  her  arm,  and  he  led  her  down  to  the  stream. 
The  young  moon  was  already  setting.  The  starry  sky  was 
flecked  here  and  there  mth  gossamer  veils  of  cloud.  A 
heavy  dew  was  falling  upon  the  dense  growths  of  the  oasis, 
and  in  the  distance  of  the  pahn-grove,  where  gleamed  the 
lamp  from  the  tent  of  the  German  lady  and  the  young 
Arab,  a  faint  and  pearly  mist  was  rising.  Nigel  drew  in 
his  breath,  then  let  it  out.     It  went  in  vapour  from  his  lips. 

"We've  left  the  dryness  of  Upper  Egypt,"  he  said. 
*'This  is  the  country  of  fertility,  the  country  where  things 
grow.  The  dews  at  night  are  splendid.  But  wait  a 
moment.    I'll  get  you  a  cloak.    I'm  your  maid,  remember." 

He  fetched  a  cloak  and  wrapped  it  round  her. 

*'I  suppose  the  Loulia  is  far  up  the  river,"  he  said. 
**  Perhaps  at  Assouan.  I  wonder  if  we  shall  see  Baroudi 
some  day  again.  I  think  he's  a  good  sort  of  fellow;  but 
after  all,  one  can  never  get  really  quite  in  touch  with 
an  Eastern.  I  used  to  think  one  could.  I  used  to  swear  it, 
but " 

He  shook  his  head  and  puffed  at  his  cigar.  Quite 
unconsciously  he  had  taken  the  husband's  tone.  There  was 
something  in  the  very  timbre  of  his  voice  which  seemed  to 
assume  Ruby's  agreement.     She  longed  to  startle  him,  to 


276  BELLA  DONNA 

fiay  she  was  far  more  in  touch  with  an  Eastern  than  she 
could  ever  be  with  him,  but  she  thought  of  the  dahabeeyah, 
the  Nile,  the  getting  away  from  here. 

*'To  tell  the  truth,"  she  said,  **I  have  always  felt  that. 
There  is  an  impassable  barrier  between  East  and  West." 

She  looked  at  the  distant  light  among  the  palm-trees. 
Then,  with  contempt,  she  added : 

** Those  who  try  to  overleap  it  must  be  mad,  or  worse.** 

Nigel's  face  grew  stern. 

*'Yes,"  he  said.  *'I  loathe  condemnation.  But  there 
are  some  things  which  really  are  unforgivable.  * ' 

He  swung  out  his  arm  towards  the  light. 

**And  that  is  one  of  them.  I  hate  to  see  that  light  so 
near  us.    It  is  the  only  blot  on  perfection." 

** Don't  look  at  it,"  she  murmured. 

His  unusual  expression  of  vigorous,  sane  disgust,  and 
almost  of  indignation,  partly  fascinated  and  partly  alarmed 
her. 

** Don't  think  of  it.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  us. 
Hark!      What's  that?" 

A  clear  note,  like  the  note  of  a  little  flute,  sounded 
from  the  farther  side  of  the  stream,  was  reiterated  many 
times.  Nigel's  face  relaxed.  The  sternness  vanished  from 
it,  and  was  replaced  by  an  ardent  expression  that  made  it 
look  almost  like  the  face  of  a  romantic  boy. 

"It's — it's  the  Egyptian  Pan  by  the  water,"  he  whis- 
pered. 

His  arm  stole  round  her  waist. 

*'Come  a  little  nearer — gently.  That's  it!  No\f 
listen!" 

The  little,  clear,  frail  sound  was  repeated  again  and 
again. 

The  young  moon  went  down  behind  the  palm-trees.  Its 
departure,  making  the  night  more  dark,  made  the  distant 
light  in  the  grove  seem  more  clear,  more  definite,  more 
brilliant. 

It  drew  the  eyes,  it  held  the  eyes  of  Bella  Donna  as 
the  Egyptian  Pan  piped  on. 


BELLA  DONNA  277 


xxm 


Mrs.  Armine  summoned  all  her  courage,  all  her  patience, 
all  ber  force  of  will,  and  began  resolutely,  as  she  mentally 
put  it,  to  earn  her  departure  from  the  land  which  she  hated 
more  bitterly  day  by  day.  The  situation  she  was  in,  so 
different  from  any  that  she  had  previously  kno\vn,  roused 
within  her  a  sort  of  nervous  desperation,  and  this  despera- 
tion armed  her  and  made  her  dangerous.  And  because  she 
was  dangerous,  she  seemed  often  innocently  happy,  and 
sometimes  ardently  happy;  she  seemed  to  have  cast  away 
from  her  any  lingering  remnants  of  the  manner  of  a  great 
courtesan  which  had  formerly  clung  about  her.  Nigel 
would  have  denied  that  there  had  been  such  remnants; 
nevertheless,  he  felt  and  rejoiced  in  the  change  that  came. 
He  said  to  himself  that  he  was  justified  of  his  loving  ex- 
periment. He  had  restored  to  Euby  her  self-respect,  her 
peace  of  mind  and  body,  and  in  doing  so  he  had  won  for 
himself  a  joy  that  he  had  not  known  till  now. 

In  that  joy  his  nature  expanded,  his  energies  leaped  up, 
his  mind  kindled,  his  heart  glowed  and  burned.  He  felt 
himself  tw^ice  the  man  that  he  had  formerly  been.  He 
flung  himself  into  his  work  with  almost  a  giant  *s  strength, 
into  his  pleasure,  riding,  shooting,  fishing,  with  the  enthu- 
siasm of  a  boy  for  the  first  time  freed  from  tutelage. 

Mrs.  Armine  was  rewarded  for  her  effort  of  cunning  by 
the  happiness  of  her  husband,  and  by  his  gratitude  and 
devotion  to  her.  For  she  was  clever  enough  to  put  him 
into  the  place  the  world  thought  she  ought  to  occupy,  into 
the  humble  seat  of  the  grateful.  She  succeeded  very  soon 
in  infecting  his  mind  with  the  idea  that  it  was  good  of  her 
to  have  married  him,  that  she  had  given  up  not  a  little  in 
doing  so.  She  never  made  a  complaint,  but  very  often  she 
indicated,  as  if  by  accident,  that  for  the  sake  of  the  upward 
progress  she  was  enduring  a  certain  amount  of  definite 
hardship  cheerfully.  There  was  scarcely  a  day,  for  in- 
stancy when  she  did  not  contrive  to  recall  to  his  mind  the 


278  BELLA  DONNA 

fact  that,  for  his  jake,  she  was  doing  without  a  maid  for 
the  first  time  in  lier  life.  Yet  she  never  said,  ''I  wish  I 
had  kept  Marie."  Her  method  was,  **How  thankful  I  am 
we  decided  to  get  rid  of  Marie,  Nigel!  She  would  have 
been  wretched  here.  The  life  would  have  killed  her,  though 
I  manage  to  stand  it  so  splendidly.  But  servants  never 
will  put  up  with  a  little  discomfort.  And  it's  so  good  of 
you  not  to  mind  my  looking  anyhow,  and  always  wearing 
the  same  old  rag.*'  Such  things  were  said  with  a  reso- 
lutely cheerful  voice  which  announced  a  moral  effort. 

As  they  sat  at  dinner,  she  would  say,  perhaps:  ''Isn't 
it  extraordinary,  Nigel,  how  soon  one  gets  not  to  care  what 
one  is  eating,  so  long  as  one  can  satisfy  one's  hunger?  I 
remember  the  time  when,  for  a  woman,  I  was  almost  an 
epicure,  and  now  I  can  swallow  Mohammed's  dinners  with 
positive  relish.  Do  give  me  another  help  of  that  extra- 
ordinary muddle  he  calls  a  stew." 

And  in  bed  that  night,  or  over  a  last  solitary  pipe  out- 
side the  tent,  Nigel  would  be  thinking,  "By  Jove,  Ruby  is 
a  trump  to  put  up  with  Mohammed's  messes  after  the  food 
she's  always  been  accustomed  to!"  Whereas,  before,  he 
had  been  congratulating  himself  on  having  engaged  at  a 
high  rate  the  greatest  treasure  of  a  camp  cook  that  could 
be  found  in  the  whole  of  Egypt. 

Perpetually,  in  a  hundred  ways,  she  brought  to  his 
memory  the  extravagant  luxury  in  which  for  so  many  years 
she  had  lived.  Yet  she  never  seemed  to  be  regretting,  but 
always  to  be  congratulating  herself  on  the  fact,  that  she 
had  abandoned  it  for  a  different,  more  Spartan  way  of  life. 
Often,  in  fact  generally,  she  talked  as  if  they  were  poor 
people,  as  if  she  had  married  a  quite  poor  man. 

"I  can't  let  you  be  reckless,"  she  would  say,  when 
perhaps  he  suggested  something  that  would  put  them  to 
extra  expense.  ' '  It  isn  't  as  if  we  were  rich.  I  love  spend- 
ing money,  but  I  should  hate  to  run  you  into  debt." 

And  if  Nigel  began  to  explain  that  he  could  perfectly 
well  afford  whatever  it  was,  she  would  gently,  and  gaily 
too,  ignore  or  sweep  away  his  remarks  with  a  **You  forget 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  279 

how  different  your  position  is  now  that  your  brother's  got 
an  heir. ' '  Once,  however,  he  persisted,  and  made  a  sort  of 
statement  of  his  affairs  to  her,  his  object  being  to  prove  to 
her  that  they  had  ''plenty  to  go  on  with."  The  result 
was  scarcely  what  he  had  anticipated.  For  a  moment  she 
seemed  to  be  struck  dumb  with  a  strong  surprise.  Then, 
apparently  recovering  herself,  she  said  decisively,  *'If  that 
is  all  we've  got,  I  am  perfectly  right  to  be  parsimonious. 
And  besides,  it 's  an  excellent  thing  for  me  to  have  to  think 
about  money.  I've  always  been  accustomed  to  spend  far 
too  much.  I've  lived  much  too  extravagantly,  too  bril- 
liantly, all  my  life.  A  change  to  simplicity  and  occasional 
self-denial  will  do  me  all  the  good  in  the  world,  whether  I 
like  it  at  first  or  not." 

And  she  smothered  a  sigh,  and  smiled  at  him  with  a 
sort  of  gentle  determination.  But  she  never  overacted  her 
part,  she  never  underlined  anything.  Directly  she  saw  that 
she  had  gained  her  end,  had  ' '  got  home, ' '  she  passed  on  to 
a  different  topic.  Never  did  she  persistently  play  the 
martyr.  She  knew  how  soon  a  man  secretly  gets  sick  of  the 
martyr-wife.  But,  in  one  way  or  another,  she  kept  Nigel 
simmering  in  appreciation  of  her. 

And  in  contenting  his  soul  she  did  not  forget  to  content 
him  in  other  ways;  she  never  allowed  him  to  lose  sight  of 
the  fact  that  she  was  still  a  beautiful  and  voluptuous 
woman,  and  that  she  belonged  wholly  to  him.  And  so 
gradually  she  woke  up  in  him  the  peculiar  and  terrible  need 
of  her  that  a  certain  type  of  woman  can  wake  in  a  certain 
type  of  man.  She  taught  him  to  be  grateful  to  her  for  a 
double  joy :  the  moral  joy  of  the  high-minded  man  who  has, 
or  who  thinks  he  has,  through  a  woman  in  some  degree  ful- 
filled his  ideal  of  conduct,  and  the  physical  joy  of  the  com- 
pletely natural  and  vigorous  man  who  legitimately  links 
with  his  moral  satisfaction  a  satisfaction  wholly  different. 
To  both  spirit  and  body  she  held  the  torch,  and  each  was 
warmed  by  the  glow,  and  made  cheerful  and  glad  by  the 
light. 

Nigel  had  cared  for  her  in  England,  had  loved  her  in 


280  BELLA  DONNA 

the  Villa  Androud ;  but  that  care,  that  love,  were  as  nothing 
to  the  feeling  for  her  that  sprang  up  in  him  in  the  midst 
of  the  springing  green  things  that  made  a  Paradise  of  the 
Fayyiim.  He  was  a  man  who  got  very  near  to  Nature,  whose 
heart  beat  very  near  to  Nature  ^s  generous  heart,  and  often, 
when  he  stood  shoulder-high  in  a  silver-green  sea  of  sugar- 
cane, or  looked  up  to  the  tufted  palms  that  made  a  murmur- 
ing over  his  head,  or  listened  to  the  rustle  of  corn  in  the 
sunshine,  or  to  the  swish  of  the  heavily-podded  doura  in 
the  light  wind  that  came  in  from  the  desert,  he  would 
compare  his  growing  love  for  Ruby  to  the  growling  of 
Nature 's  children  in  this  beneficent  clime.  And  the  luxuri- 
ant richness  of  the  green  world  round  about  him  seemed 
to  have  its  counterpart  within  him. 

But  there  was  the  desert,  too,  always  near  to  remind 
him  of  the  arid  wastes  of  the  world — of  the  arid  wastes  that 
needed  reclaiming  in  humanity,  in  himself. 

And  in  his  great  joy  he  never  lost  one  of  his  most 
beautiful  natural  graces,  the  grace  of  an  unostentatious 
humility. 

The  racial  reticence  of  the  Englishman  about  the  things 
he  cares  for  most  kept  him  from  telling  his  wife  of  what 
was  happening  in  his  mind  and  heart,  despite  his  apparent 
frankness,  wliicli  often  seemed  that  of  a  boy;  and  some 
of  it  she  was  too  devoid  of  all  spirituality,  all  moral  en- 
thusiasm, to  divine.  But  she  summed  him  up  pretty  ac- 
curately, knew  as  a  rule  pretty  thoroughly  "where  she  was 
with  him  " ;  and  though  she  sometimes  wondered  how  things 
could  be  as  they  were  in  him,  or  in  any  one,  still  she  knew 
that  so  they  were. 

She  acted  her  part  well,  though  day  by  day,  in  the 
acting  of  it,  her  nervous  desperation  increased;  but  when, 
now  and  then,  her  self-control  was  for  a  moment  shaken, 
she  succeeded  in  leading  Nigel  to  attribute  any  momentary 
sharpness,  cynicism,  or  even  bitterness,  to  some  failure  in 
himself  which  had  awakened  the  doubts  of  the  woman  long 
trampled  on.  Subtly  she  recalled  to  him  the  night  after 
the  scene  in  the  garden  of  the  Villa  Androud ;  she  reminded 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  281 

him — without  words — of  the  words  she  had  spoken  then. 
He  seemed  to  hear  her  saying:  ''After  this  morning  you 
will  have  to  prove  your  belief  in  me  to  me,  thoroughly 
prove  it,  or  else  I  shall  not  believe  it.  It  will  take  a  little 
time  to  make  me  feel  quite  safe  with  you,  as  one  can  only 
feel  when  the  little  bit  of  sincerity  in  one  is  believed  in  and 
trusted. ' '  And  he  remembered  the  resolve  he  had  taken  on 
that  night  of  crisis,  to  restore  this  woman's  confidence  in 
goodness  by  having  a  firm  faith  in  the  goodness  existing 
in  her.  And  he  condemned  himself  and  braced  himself  for 
new  efforts.  Those  efforts  were  not  difficult  for  him  to 
make  now  that  he  had  Ruby  all  to  himself,  now  that  he  saw 
her  utterly  divorced  from  her  old  life  and  companions,  now 
that  he  held  her  in  the  breast  of  Nature,  now  that  he  knew 
— as  how  could  he  not  know? — that  she  was  living  virtu- 
ously, sanely,  simply,  and,  as  he  thought,  splendidly  and 
happily,  despite  the  lingering  backward  glances  she  some- 
times cast  at  the  old  luxury  foregone.  It  is  very  difficult 
for  the  human  being  who  finds  perfect  happiness  in  a  life 
to  realize  that  such  a  life  to  another  may  be  a  torment. 

And  Ruby  made  few  mistakes.  When  she  was  with  her 
husband,  her  now  unpainted  face  was  serene.  She  worked 
bravely  to  earn  her  release  from  a  life  that  was  unsuited  to 
her  whole  temperament,  and  that  was  utterly  odious  to  her. 

But  had  not  Hamza  and  Ibrahim  been  in  the  camp  with 
her,  she  often  said  to  herself  that  she  could  not  have  en- 
dured this  period.  That  they  were  there  meant  that  she 
was  not  forgotten,  that  while  she  was  being  patient,  in  a 
distant  place,  somewhere  upon  the  great  river,  in  the  golden 
climate  of  Upper  Egypt,  some  one  else  was  being  patient 
too. 

Surely  it  meant,  it  must  mean,  that ! 

But  she  was  haunted  by  a  jealousy  that,  instead  of 
being  diminished  by  time  and  absence,  increased  with  each 
passing  day,  even  waking  up  in  her  a  vital  force  of  imagina- 
tion she  had  not  suspected  she  possessed.  She  knew  men 
as  a  race  au  fond — ^knew  their  fickleness,  swift  f orgetfulness, 
readiness  to  be  content  with  the  second  best,  so  different 


282  BELLA  DONNA 

from  the  far  greater  Epicureanism  of  women;  knew  their 
uneasy  appetites,  their  lack  of  self-restraint;  and,  adding 
to  this  sum  of  knowledge  her  personal  knowledge  of 
Baroudi  as  a  young,  strong,  and  untrammelled  man  of 
the  East,  she  was  confronted  with  visions  which  tortured 
her  cruelly.  There  were  times  when  her  mind  ran  riot, 
throwing  him  among  all  the  sensual  pleasures  which  he 
loved.  And  then  she  was  more  than  heart-sick;  she  was 
actually  body-sick.  She  felt  ill ;  she  felt  that  she  ached  with 
jealousy,  as  another  may  ache  with  some  physical  disease- 
She  had  a  longing  to  perform  some  frantic  physical  act. 

And  then  she  remembered  her  beauty,  and  that,  at  all 
costs,  she  must  preserve  it  as  long  as  possible,  and  she 
secretly  cursed  the  unbridled  nature  within  her.  But  the 
climate  of  the  Fayyum  was  very  kind  to  her,  and  this  life  in 
the  open,  in  the  unvitiated  air  that  blew  through  the  palms 
from  the  virgin  deserts  of  Libya,  gave  to  her  health  such  as 
she  had  never  known  till  now,  despite  her  mental  torture. 
And  that  body-sickness  which  came  from  her  jealousy  was 
like  a  fit  which  seized  her  and  passed  away. 

Egypt  brought  back  her  youth,  or,  at  the  least,  pro- 
longed and  increased  steadily  the  shining  and  warmth  of 
her  Indian  summer.  And  with  that  shining  and  warmth  the 
desire  to  live  fully,  to  use  her  present  powers  in  the  way 
that  would  bring  her  happiness,  grew  perpetually  in 
strength  and  ardour.  She  longed  for  the  man  who  suited 
her,  and  for  the  luxe  that  he  could  give  her.  With  her 
genuine  physical  passion  for  Baroudi  there  woke  the  ugly 
greed  that  was  an  essential  part  of  her  nature,  the  greed  of 
the  true  materialist  who  cares  nothing  for  a  simplicity  that 
has  not  cost  the  eyes  out  of  somebody's  head.  She  was  a 
woman  who  loved  to  know  that  some  one  was  ruining  him- 
self for  her.  She  took  an  almost  physical  pleasure  in  the 
spending  of  money.  And  often  her  mind  echoed  the  words 
of  Hassan,  when  he  looked  across  the  Nile  to  the  tapering 
mast  of  the  Loulia  and  murmured,  **]\Iahmoud  Baroudi  is 
rich!  Mahmoud  Baroudi  is  rich!*'  And  she  yearned  to 
go,  not  only  to  Baroudi,  but  to  his  gold,  and  she  remem- 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  283 

bered  her  fancy  when  she  sat  by  the  Nile,  that  the  gleaming 
gold  on  the  water  was  showered  towards  her  by  him  to 
comfort  her  in  her  solitude. 

At  last  a  crisis  came. 

After  staying  for  a  short  time  at  Sennoures,  the  camp 
had  been  moved  from  the  village  to  the  outskirts  of  the 
oasis,  so  that  Nigel  might  be  close  to  his  land.  Here  the 
rich  fertility,  the  green  abundance  of  growing  things, 
trailed  away  into  the  aridity  of  the  desert,  and  at  night, 
from  the  door  of  the  tent,  Mrs.  Armine  could  look  out 
upon  the  pale  and  vague  desolation  of  the  illimitable  sands 
stretching  away  into  the  illimitable  darkness.  Just  at  first 
the  vision  fascinated  her,  and  she  lent  an  ear  to  the  call 
of  the  East,  but  very  soon  she  was  distressed  by  the  sight 
of  the  still  and  unpeopled  country,  which  suggested  to  her 
the  nameless  solitudes  into  which  manj^  women  are  driven 
out  when  the  time  of  their  triumph  is  over.  She  did  not 
speak  of  this  to  Nigel,  but,  pretending  that  the  wind  at 
night  from  the  desert  chilled  her  even  between  the  canvas 
walls  of  the  tent,  she  had  the  tent  turned  round  with  its 
orifice  towards  the  oasis.  And  she  strove  to  ignore  the 
desert 

Nevertheless,  despite  what  was  indeed  almost  a  horror  of 
its  spaces,  she  now  found  that  she  felt  more  strongly  their 
fascination,  which  seemed  calling  her,  but  to  danger  or 
sorrow  rather  than  to  any  pleasure  or  permanent  satis- 
faction. She  often  felt  an  uneasy  desire  to  be  more  inti- 
mate with  the  thing  which  she  feared,  and  which  woke  up 
in  her  a  prophetic  dread  of  the  future  when  the  Indian 
summer  would  have  faded  for  ever.  And  when  one  day 
Nigel  suggested  that  he  should  take  two  or  three  days* 
holiday,  and  that  they  should  remove  the  camp  into  the 
wilds  at  the  north-eastern  end  of  the  sacred  lake  of  Kurun, 
where  Ibrahim  and  Hamza  said  he  could  get  some  first-rate 
duck-shooting,  and  Ruby  could  come  to  close  quarters  with 
the  reality  of  the  Libyan  desert,  she  assented  almost  eagerly. 
Any  movement,  any  change,  was  welcome  to  her;  and — 
she  had  to  be  more  intimate  with  the  thing  which  she 
feared. 


284  BELLA  DONNA 

So  one  morning  the  riding  camels  kneeled  down,  the 
tents  collapsed,  were  rolled  up  and  sent  forward,  and  they 
started  to  go  still  farther  into  the  wilds. 

They  made  a  detour  in  the  oasis  to  give  their  Bedouins 
time  to  pitch  their  camp  in  the  sands,  and  Ibrahim  an  hour 
or  two  to  prepare  everything  for  their  arrival.  It  w^as 
already  afternoon  when  they  were  on  the  track  that  leads 
to  the  lake,  leaving  the  groves  of  palms  behind  them  and 
the  low  houses  of  the  fellahin,  moving  slowly  towards  the 
sand-hills  that  appeared  far  off,  where  huddled  the  patched 
and  discoloured  tents  of  the  gipsies  and  the  almost  naked 
fishermen  who  are  the  only  dwellers  in  this  strange  and 
blanched  desolation,  where  the  sands  and  the  salty  waters 
meet  in  a  wilderness  of  tamarisk  bushes. 

It  was  a  grey  and  windless  day,  and  the  sky  looked  much 
lower  than  it  usually  does  in  Egj^pt.  The  atmosphere  was 
sad.  Clouds  of  wild  pigeons  flew  up  to  right  and  left  of 
them,  circling  over  the  now  diminishing  crops  and  the 
little  runlets  of  water  that  soon  would  die  away  where 
sterility 's  empire  began.  In  low,  yet  penetrating,  voices  the 
camel  men  sang  the  songs  of  the  sands,  as  they  ran  on, 
treading  softly  with  naked  feet.  Ilamza,  who  accompanied 
the  little  caravan  with  his  donkey  in  case  Mrs.  Armine  grew 
tired  of  her  camel,  holding  his  hieratic  wand,  kept  always 
softly  and  unweariedly  behind  them. 

And  thus,  always  accompanied  by  the  hum  and  the 
twittering  of  a  melancholy  music,  they  went  on  towards 
the  lake. 

Upon  Nigel  *s  beast  were  slung  his  guns.  He  was  eagerly 
looking  forward  to  his  holiday.  He  had  been  toiling  really 
hard  with  his  fellahin,  often  almost  up  to  his  Imees  in  mud 
and  water,  driving  the  sand-plough,  working  the  small  and 
primitive  engines,  digging,  planting,  even  following  the 
hand-plough  drawn  by  a  camel  yoked  to  a  donkey.  He  was 
in  grand  condition,  hard  as  nails,  burnt  by  the  sun,  joyful 
with  the  almost  careless  joy  that  is  born  of  a  health  made 
perfect  by  labour.  The  desolation  before  them  to  him 
seemed  a  land  of  promise,  for  he  was  entering  it  with  Ruby, 


BELLA  DONNA  285 

and  in  it  there  were  thousands  of  wild  duck,  and  jackals 
that  slunk  out  by  night  among  the  stunted  tamarisk  bushes. 

"We  seem  to  be  going  to  the  end  of  the  world,"  she 
said. 

She  was  swaying  gently  to  and  fro  with  the  movement 
of  her  camel,  which  had  just  turned  to  the  right,  after 
following  for  an  immense  time  a  straight  track  that  was 
cut  through  the  crops,  and  that  never  deviated  to  right  or 
left.  Now  sand  appeared.  On  their  left,  and  parallel  to 
them,  crept  a  sluggish  stream  of  water  between  uneven 
banks  of  sand.  And  the  track  was  up  and  down,  and  here 
and  there  showed  humps,  and  deep  ruts,  and  sometimes 
holes.  The  crops  began  to  be  sparser;  no  more  houses  or 
huts  were  visible;  but  far  away  in  the  white  and  wintry 
distance,  looking  almost  like  discolourations  upon  a  sheet, 
were  scattered  low  brown  and  black  tents,  which  seemed 
to  be  crouching  on  the  desolate  ground. 

''Does  any  one  live  out  here  beyond  us?"  she  added. 
''Are  those  things  really  tents?" 

"Yes,  Euby." 

"It  seems  incredible  that  any  human  beings  should 
deliberately  choose  to  live  here." 

' '  You  haven 't  ever  felt  the  call  of  the  wild  ? "  he  asked. 

She  looked  at  him,  and  said,  quickly: 

"Oh,  yes.  But  it's  different  for  us.  We  come  here  to 
get  a  new  experience,  to  have  a  thorough  change,  and  we 
can  get  away  whenever  we  like.  But  just  imagine  choosing 
^to  live  here  permanently!" 

"  I  'd  rather  live  here  than  in  almost  any  town. ' ' 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  his  face  lost  its  joyous 
expression  and  became  almost  eagerly  anxious.  Then  he 
said: 

"Ruby,  do  you  hate  all  this?" 

"Hate  it!  No,  it's  a  novelty;  it's  strange;  it  excites 
me,  interests  me." 

"You  are  sure?" 

He  had  suddenly  thought  of  her  sitting-room  in  the 
Savoy     Into  what  a  violently  different  life  he  had  con- 


286  BELLA  DONNA 

veyed  her! — into  a  life  that  he  loved,  and  that  was  well 
fitted  for  a  man  to  live.  He  loved  such  a  life,  but  perhaps 
he  had  been,  was  being  selfish.  He  tried  to  read  her  face, 
and  was  suddenly  full  of  doubts  and  fears. 

*'I  like  roughing  it,  of  course,"  he  added.  **But,  I 
say,  you  mustn't  give  in  to  what  I  like  if  it  doesn't  suit 
you.    We  men  are  infernally  selfish. ' ' 

She  saw  her  opportunity. 

*' Don't  you  know  yet  that  women  find  most  of  their 
happiness  in  pleasing  the  men  they  love?"  she  said. 

*'But  I  want  to  please  you." 

* '  So  you  shall  presently. ' ' 

''How?" 

*'By  taking  me  up  the  Nile." 

She  had  sown  in  his  mind  the  belief  that  she  was  living 
for  him  unselfishly.  He  resolved  to  pay  her  with  a  sterling 
coin  of  unselfishness.  Never  mind  the  work!  In  this  first 
year  he  must  think  always  first  of  her,  must  dedicate  him- 
self to  her.  And  in  making  her  life  to  flower  was  he  not 
reclaiming  the  desert  ? 

**I  will  take  you  up  the  Nile,"  he  said.  ** Always  be 
frank  with  me.  Ruby.  If — if  things  that  suit  me  don't 
suit  you,  tell  me  so  straight  out.  I  think  the  one  thing 
that  binds  two  people  together  with  hoops  of  steel  is  abso- 
lute sincerity.    Even  if  it  hurts,  it's  a  saviour." 

''Yes,  but  I  am  absolutely  sincere  when  I  say  that  I 
love  to  live  in  your  life. ' ' 

She  could  afford  to  say  that  now,  and  despite  the  in- 
creasing desolation  around  them  her  heart  leaped  at  a 
prospect  of  release,  for  she  knew  how  his  mind  was  working, 
and  she  heard  the  murmur  of  Nile  water  round  the  prow  of 
a  dahabeeyah. 

That  night  they  camped  in  an  amazing  desolation. 

The  great  lake  of  Kurun,  which  looks  like  an  inland  sea, 
and  which  is  salt  almost  as  the  sea,  is  embraced  at  its 
northern  end  by  another  sea  of  sand.  The  vast  slopes  of 
the  desert  of  Libya  reach  down  to  its  waveless  waters.  The 
desolation  of  the  desert  is  linked  with  the  desolation  of  this 


BELLA  DONNA  287 

unmurmuring  sea,  the  deep  silence  of  the  wastes  with  the 
deep  silence  of  the  waters. 

Never  before  had  Mrs.  Armine  known  such  a  desolation, 
never  had  she  imagined  such  a  silence  as  that  which  lay 
around  their  camp,  which  brooded  over  this  desert,  which 
brooded  over  the  greenish  grey  waters  of  this  vast  lake 
which  was  like  a  sea. 

She  spoke,  and  her  voice  seemed  to  be  taken  at  once  as 
its  prey  by  the  silence.  Even  her  thought  seemed  to  be 
seized  by  it,  and  to  be  conveyed  away  from  her  like  a  living 
thing  whose  destiny  it  was  to  be  slain.  She  felt  paltry, 
helpless,  unmeaning,  in  the  midst  of  this  arid  breast  of 
Nature,  which  was  pale  as  the  leper  is  pale.  She  felt 
chilled,  even  almost  sexless,  as  if  all  her  powers,  all  her 
passions  and  her  desires,  had  been  grasped  by  the  silence, 
as  if  they  were  soon  to  be  taken  for  ever  from  her.  Never 
before  had  anything  that  was  neither  human  nor  connected 
in  any  way  with  humanity 's  efforts  and  wishes  made  such  a 
terrific  impression  upon  her. 

She  hid  this  impression  from  Nigel. 

The  long  camel-ride  had  slightly  fatigued  her,  despite 
the  great  strength  of  body  which  she  had  been  given  by 
Egypt.  She  busied  herself  in  the  usual  way  of  a  woman 
arrived  from  a  journey,  changed  her  go\\rQ,  bathed  in  a 
collapsible  bath  made  of  India  rubber,  put  eau  de  Cologne 
on  her  forehead,  arranged  her  hair  before  a  mirror  pinned 
,to  the  sloping  canvas.  But  all  the  time  that  she  did  these 
ings  she  was  listening  to  the  enormous  silence,  was  feeling 
like  a  weight,  was  shrinking,  or  trying  to  shrink  away 
rom  its  outstretched,  determined  arms.  From  without 
came  sometimes  sounds  of  voices  that  presented  themselves 
to  her  ears  as  shadoAvs,  skeletons,  spectres,  present  them- 
selves to  the  eyes.  Was  that  really  Ibrahim?  Was  that 
Nigel  speaking,  laughing  ?  And  that  long  stream  of  words, 
did  it  flow  from  Hamza's  throat?  Or  were  those  shadows 
outside,  with  voices  of  shadows,  trying  to  hold  intercourse 

I  with  shadows  ?    Presently  tea  was  ready,  and  she  came  out 


m 


288  BELLA  DONNA 

They  were  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  lake, 
looking  down  on  it  from  the  slight  elevation  of  a  gigantic 
slope  of  sand,  which  rose  gradually  behind  them  till  in  the 
distance  it  seemed  to  touch  the  stooping  grey  of  the  low 
horizon.  Everywhere  white  and  yellowish  wliite  melted  into 
grey  and  greenish  grey.  The  only  vegetation  was  a  great 
maze  of  tamarisk  bushes,  w^hich  stretched  from  the  flat  sand- 
plain  on  their  left  to  the  verge  of  the  lake,  and  far  out  into 
the  water,  making  a  refuge  and  a  shelter  for  the  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  wild  duck  that  peopled  the  watery 
waste.  Now,  unafraid,  they  were  floating  in  the  open, 
casting  great  clouds  of  velvety  black  upon  the  still  surface 
of  the  lake,  which,  owing  to  some  atmospheric  effect,  looked 
as  if  it  sloped  upward  like  the  sands  till  it  met  the  stooping 
sky.  Very  far  off,  almost  visionary,  like  blacknesses  held 
partly  by  the  water,  and  partly  by  the  vapours  that  muffled 
the  sky,  were  two  or  three  of  the  clumsy  boats  of  the  wild, 
almost  savage  natives  who  live  on  the  fish  of  the  lake. 
Almost  imperceptibly  they  moved  about  their  eerie  business. 

"  Just  look  at  the  duck,  Euby ! "  said  Nigel,  as  she  came 
out.    "  What  a  place  for  sport !  ^' 

For  once  their  usual  roles  were  reversed;  he  was  prac- 
tical, while  she  was  imaginative,  or  at  least  strongly  affected 
by  her  imagination.  He  had  been  looking  to  his  guns, 
making  arrangements  with  a  huge  and  nearly  black  dweller 
of  the  tents  to  show  him  the  best  sport  possible  for  a  fixed 
sum  of  money. 

*'But  it*s  the  devil  to  get  within  range  of  them,'*  he 
added.    ''I  shall  have  to  do  as  the  natives  do,  I  expect.*' 

"What's  that?"  she  asked,  with  an  effort. 

'*  Strip,  and  wade  in  up  to  my  neck,  carrying  my  gun 
over  my  head,  and  then  keep  perfectly  still  till  some  of 
them  come  within  range." 

He  laughed  with  joyous  anticipation. 

**I've  told  Ibrahim  he  must  have  a  roaring  big  fire  for 
me  when  I  get  back.*' 

**Are  you  going  to-day?*' 

*'Yes,  I  think  I'll  have  just  an  hour.    D^ou  feel  up  to 


BELLA  DONNA  289 

riding  the  donkey  to  the  water's  edge,  and  coming  out  on 
the  lake  with  me  ? " 

She  hesitated.  In  this  waste  and  in  this  silence  she 
felt  almost  incapable  of  a  decision.     Then  she  said: 

"No,  I  think  I've  had  enough  for  to-day.  You  must 
bring  me  back  a  duck  for  dinner. ' ' 

"I  swear  I  wiU." 

He  gripped  her  hands  when  he  went.  He  was  full  of 
the  irrepressible  joy  of  the  sportsman  starting  out  for  his 
pleasure. 

"What  will  you  do  till  I  come  back?" 

"Rest.  Perhaps  I  shall  read,  and  I'll  talk  to  Ibrahim. 
He  always  amuses  me." 

' '  Good.    I  'm  going  to  ride  the  donkey  and  take  Hamza. '' 

Just  as  he  was  mounting,  he  turned  round,  and  said : 

"Ruby,  I'm  having  my  time  now.  You  shall  havi 
yours.  You  shall  have  the  best  dahabeeyah  to  be  got  on 
the  Nile,  the  Loulia,  if  Baroudi  will  hire  it  out  to  us." 

"Oh,  the  Loulia  would  cost  us  too  much,"  she  said, 
* '  even  if  it  could  be  hired. ' ' 

"We'll  get  a  good  one,  anyhow,  and  you  shall  see  every 
temple — go  up  to  Haifa,  if  you  want  to.  And  now  pray 
for  duck  with  all  your  might. ' ' 

He  rode  away  down  the  sand  slope  towards  the  lake,  and 
presently,  with  Hamza  and  the  native  guide,  was  but  a 
moving  speck  in  the  pallid  distance. 

Mrs.  Armine  watched  them  from  a  folding  chair,  which 
she  made  Ibrahim  carry  out  into  the  sand  some  hundreds  of 
yards  from  the  camp. 

"Leave  me  here  for  a  little  while,  Ibrahim,"  she  said. 

He  obeyed  her,  and  strolled  quietly  away,  then  presently 
squatted  down  to  keep  guard. 

At  first  Mrs.  Armine  scarcely  thought  at  all.  She  stared 
at  the  sand  slopes,  at  the  sand  plains,  at  the  sand  banks, 
at  the  wilderness  of  tamarisk,  at  the  grey  waters  spotted 
with  duck,  at  the  little  moving  black  things  that,  like 
insects,  crept  towards  them.  And  she  felt  like — what  ?  Like 
a  nothing.  For  what  seemed  a  very  long  time  she  felt  likt= 
19 


290  BELLA  DONNA 

that.  And  then,  gradually,  very  gradually,  her  self  began 
to  wake,  began  to  release  itself  from  the  spell  of  place,  and 
to  struggle  forward,  as  it  were,  out  of  the  shattering  grip 
of  the  silence.  And  she  burned  with  indignation  in  the 
chill  air  of  the  desert. 

Why  had  she  let  herself  be  brought,  even  to  spend  only 
three  or  four  days,  to  such  a  place  as  this?  Had  she  ever 
had  even  a  momentary  desire  to  see  more  solitary  places 
than  the  place  from  which  they  had  come?  Where  was 
Baroudi  at  this  moment?  What  was  he  feeling,  doing, 
thinking  ?  She  fastened  her  mind  fiercely  upon  the  thought 
of  him,  and  she  saw  herself  in  exile.  Always,  until  now, 
she  had  felt  the  conviction  that  Baroudi  had  some  plan  in 
connection  with  her,  and  that  quiescence  on  her  part  was 
necessary  to  its  ultimate  fulfilment.  She  had  felt  that  she 
was  in  the  web  of  his  plan,  that  she  had  to  wait,  that  some- 
thing devised  by  him  would  presently  happen — she  did 
not  know  what — and  that  their  intercourse  would  be 
resumed. 

Now,  influenced  by  the  desolation  towards  utter  doubt 
and  almost  frantic  depression,  as  she  came  back  to  her  full 
life,  which  had  surely  been  for  a  while  in  suspense,  she 
asked  herself  whether  she  had  not  been  grossly  mistaken. 
Baroudi  had  never  told  her  anything  about  the  future,  had 
never  given  her  any  hint  as  to  what  his  meaning  was. 
Was  that  because  he  had  had  no  meaning?  Had  she  been 
the  victim  of  her  own  desires?  Had  Baroudi  had  enough 
of  her  and  done  with  her?  Something,  that  was  com- 
pounded of  something  else  as  well  as  of  vanity,  seemed  still 
to  be  telling  her  that  it  was  not  so.  But  to-day,  in  this 
terrible  greyness,  this  melancholy,  this  chilly  pallor,  she 
could  not  trust  it.    She  turned. 

** Ibrahim!    Ibrahim!"  she  cried  out. 

He  rose  from  the  sands  and  sauntered  towards  her. 
He  came  and  stood  silently  beside  her. 

** Ibrahim/'  she  began. 

She  looked  at  him,  and  was  silent.  Then  she  called  on 
her  resolute  self,  on  the  self  that  had  been  hardened^ 
coarsened,  by  the  life  which  she  had  led. 


BELLA  DONNA  291 


n 


r 

I 


ft 


Ibrahim,  do  you  know  where  Baroudi  is — what  he  has 
been  doing  all  this  time?"  she  asked. 

*'What  he  has  bin  doin'  I  dunno,  my  lady.  Baroudi  he 
doos  very  many  things." 

**I  want  to  know  what  he  has  been  doing.  I  must,  I 
will  know." 

The  spell  of  place,  the  spell  of  the  great  and  frigid 
silence,  was  suddenly  and  completely  broken.  Mrs. 
Armine  stood  up  in  the  sand.  She  was  losing  her  self- 
control.  She  looked  at  the  dreary  prospect  before  her, 
growing  sadder  as  evening  drew  on;  she  thought  of  Nigel 
perfectly  happy,  she  even  saw  him  down  there  a  black 
speck  in  the  immensity,  creeping  onward  towards  his 
pleasure,  and  a  fury  that  was  vindictive  possessed  her.  It 
seemed  to  her  absolutely  monstrous  that  such  a  woman  as 
she  was  should  be  in  such  a  place,  in  such  a  situation,  wait- 
ing in  the  sand  alone,  deserted,  with  nothing  to  do,  no  one 
to  speak  to,  no  prospect  of  pleasure,  no  prospect  of  any- 
thing. A  loud  voice  within  her  seemed  suddenly  to  cry,  to 
shriek,  "I  won't  stand  this.    I  won't  stand  it." 

**I'm  sick  of  the  Fayyum,"  she  said  fiercely,  ** utterly 
sick  of  it.  I  want  to  go  back  to  the  Nile.  Do  you  know 
where  Baroudi  is  ?  Is  he  on  the  Nile  ?  I  hate,  I  loathe  this 
place." 

*'My  lady,"  said  Ibrahim,  very  gently,  ''there  is  good 
jackal-shootin '  here. ' ' 

"Jackal-shooting,  duck-shooting — so  you  think  of  noth- 
ing but  your  master's  pleasure!"  she  said,  indignantly. 
*  *  Do  you  suppose  I  'm  going  to  sit  still  here  in  the  sand  for 
days,  and  do  nothing,  and  see  nobody,  while — while " 

She  stopped.  She  could  not  go  on.  The  fierceness  of 
her  anger  almost  choked  her.  If  Nigel  had  been  beside  her 
at  that  moment,  she  would  have  been  capable  of  showing 
even  to  him  something  of  her  truth.  Ibrahim's  voice  again 
broke  gently  in  upon  her  passion. 

''My  lady,  for  jackal-shoot  in'  you  have  to  go  out  at 
night.  You  have  to  go  down  there  when  it  is  dark,  and  stay 
there  for  a  long  while,  till  the  jackal  him  come.    You  tie 


292  BELLA  DONNA 

a  goat;  the  jackal  him  smell  the  goat  and  presently  him 
comin'/' 

She  stared  at  him  almost  blankly.  What  had  all  this 
rhodomontade  to  do  with  her?    Ibrahim  met  her  eyes. 

''All  this  very  interestin'  for  my  Lord  Arminigel,"  said 
Ibrahim,  softly. 

Mrs.  Armine  said  nothing,  but  she  went  on  staring  at 
Ibrahim. 

''P'r'aps  my  gentleman  go  out  to-night.  If  he  go,  you 
take  a  little  walk  with  Ibrahim. ' ' 

He  turned,  and  pointed  behind  her,  to  the  distance 
where  the  rising  sand-hill  seemed  to  touch  the  stooping  sky. 

*'You  take  a  little  walk  up  there." 

Still  she  said  nothing.  She  asked  nothing.  She  had 
no  need  to  ask.  All  the  desolation  about  her  seemed  sud- 
denly to  blossom  like  the  rose.  Instead  of  the  end  of  the 
world,  this  place  seemed  to  be  the  core,  the  warm  heart  of 
the  world. 

"When  at  last  she  spoke,  she  said  quietly: 

**Your  master  will  go  jackal-shooting  to-night." 

Ibrahim  nodded  his  head. 

*'I  dessay,"  he  pensively  replied. 

The  soft  crack  of  a  duck-gun  came  to  their  ears  from 
far  off  among  the  tamarisk  bushes  beside  the  green-grey 
waters. 

' '  I  dessay  my  Lord  Arminigel  him  goin '  after  the  jackal 
to-night." 

XXIV 

The  dinner  in  camp  that  night  was  quite  a  joyous 
festival.  Nigel  brought  back  two  duck,  Ibrahim  made  a 
fine  fire  of  brushwood  to  warm  the  eager  sportsman,  and 
Ruby  was  in  amazing  spirits.  She  played  to  perfection 
the  part  of  ardent  housewife.  She  came  and  went  in  the 
sand,  presiding  over  everything.  She  even  penetrated  into 
the  cook's  tent  with  Ibrahim  to  give  Mohammed  some  hints 
as  to  the  preparation  of  the  duck. 


h 


BELLA  DONNA  293 

"This  is  your  holiday,"  she  said  to  Nigel.  **I  want  it 
to  be  a  happy  one.  You  must  make  the  most  of  it,  and  go 
out  shooting  all  the  time.  They  say  there's  any  amount  of 
jackals  down  there  in  the  tamarisk  bushes.  Are  you  going 
to  have  a  shot  at  them  to-night?" 

Nigel  stretched  out  his  legs,  with  a  long  sigh  of  satis- 
faction. 

"I  don't  know.  Ruby.  I  should  like  to,  but  it's  so  jolly 
and  cosy  here. ' ' 

He  looked  towards  the  fire,  then  back  at  her. 

*  *  I  'm  not  sure  that  I  '11  go  out  again, ' '  he  said. 

**I  dare  say  you're  tired." 

**No,  that's  not  it.  The  truth  is  that  I'm  tremendously 
happy  in  camp  with  you.  And  I  love  to  think  of  the  deso- 
lation all  round  us,  and  that  there  isn  't  a  soul  about,  except 
a  few  gipsies  down  there,  and  a  few  wild,  half-naked  fisher- 
men. We've  brought  our  own  oasis  with  us  into  the  Libyan 
Desert.  And  I  think  to-night  I  '11  be  a  wise  man  and  stick 
to  the  oasis." 

She  smiled  at  him. 

*'Then  do!" 

In  the  midst  of  her  smile  she  yawned. 

*'I  shall  go  to  bed  directly,"  she  said. 

She  seemed  to  suppress  another  yawn. 

**You  mean  to  go  to  bed  early?"  he  asked. 

** Almost  directly.  Do  you  mind?  I'm  dog  tired  with 
the  long  camel  ride,  and  I  shall  sleep  like  twenty  tops." 

She  put  her  hand  on  hisi  shoulder.  Her  whole  face  was 
looking  sleepy. 

*' You  old  wretch,"  she  said.  "What  do  you  mean  by 
looking  so  horribly  wide  awake?" 

He  put  his  hand  over  hers,  and  laughed. 

*'I  seem  to  be  made  of  iron  in  this  glorious  country. 
I  'm  not  a  bit  sleepy. ' ' 

She  stifled  another  yawn. 

*'Then  I'll"— she  put  up  her  hand  to  her  mouth— * 'I'll 
sit  up  a  little  to  keep  you  company." 

Indeed,  you  shan't.    You  shall  go  straight  to  bed, 


29^  BELLA  DONNA 

and  when  you're  safely  tucked  up  I  think  perhaps  I  will 
just  go  down  and  have  a  look  for  the  jackals.  If  you're 
going  to  sleep,  I  might  as  well " 

He  drew  down  her  face  to  his  and  gave  her  a  long  kiss. 

*'I'll  put  you  to  bed  first,  and  when  you're  quite  safe 
and  warm  and  cosy,  I'll  make  a  start." 

She  returned  his  kiss. 

*'No,  I'll  seeyouofie." 

'*But  why?" 

*' Because  I  love  to  see  you  starting  off  in  the  night  to 
the  thing  that  gives  you  pleasure.  That's  my  pleasure. 
Not  always,  because  I'm  too  selfish.  On  the  Nile  you'll 
have  to  attend  to  me,  to  do  everything  I  want.  But  just 
for  these  few  days  I  'm  going  to  be  like  an  Eastern  woman, 
at  the  beck  of  my  lord  and  master.  So  I  must  see  you 
start,  and  then — oh,  how  I  shall  sleep ! ' ' 

He  got  up. 

*'P'r'aps  I'll  be  out  till  morning.  I  wonder  if  Hamdi's 
got  a  goat." 

He  went  away  for  his  gun.  In  a  very  few  minutes  he 
left  the  camp,  gaily  calling  to  her,  * '  Sleep  well,  Ruby !  You 
look  like  a  sorceress  standing  there  all  lit  up  by  the  fire. 
The  flames  are  flickering  over  you.  Good  night — good 
night!" 

His  steps  died  away  in  the  sands,  his  voice  died  away 
in  the  darkness. 

She  waited,  standing  perfectly  still  by  the  fire,  for  a 
long  time.  Her  soul  seemed  running,  rushing  over  the 
sands  towards  the  ridge  that  met  the  sky,  but  her  will  kept 
her  body  standing  beside  the  flames,  until  at  last  the 
sportsmen  were  surely  far  enough  away. 

'*  Ibrahim!" 

''My  lady?" 

*'How  are  we  going?" 

She  was  whispering  to  him  beside  the  fire. 

"Does  it  matter  the  camel-men  knowing?  Are  they  to 
know?    Am  I  to  ride  or  walk?" 

**You  leave  everythin'  to  Ibrahim.  You  go  in  your 
tent,  and  presently  I  come." 


BELLA  DONNA  295 

She  went  at  once  into  the  tent,  and  sat  down  on  a  fold- 
ing chair.  A  little  round  iron  table  stood  before  it.  She 
leaned  her  arms  on  the  table  and  laid  her  face  against  the 
back  of  her  hand.  Her  cheek  was  burning.  She  sprang 
up,  went  to  her  dressing-case,  unlocked  it,  drew  out  the 
hoUe  de  'beaut e  which  Baroudi  had  given  her  in  the  orange- 
garden,  and  quickly  made  her  face  up,  standing  before 
the  glass  that  was  pinned  to  the  canvas.  Then  she  put  on 
a  short  fur  coat.  The  wind  would  be  cold  in  the  sands. 
She  wondered  how  far  they  had  to  go. 

And  if  Nigel  should  unexpectedly  return,  as  nearly  all 
husbands  did  on  such  occasions  ? 

She  could  not  bother  about  that.  She  felt  too  desperate 
to  care;  she  felt  in  the  grasp  of  fate.  If  the  fate  was  to 
be  untoward,  so  much  the  worse  for  her — and  for  Nigel. 
She  meant  to  go  beyond  that  ridge  of  the  sand.  That  was 
all  she  knew.  Quickly  she  buttoned  the  fur  coat  and  put 
on  a  hat  and  gloves. 

**Now  we  goin'  to  start.'' 

Ibrahim  put  his  muffled  head  in  at  the  door  of  the  tent. 

*' Walking? "she  asked. 

**We  goin'  to  start  walkin'." 

When  she  came  out,  she  found  that  the  brushwood  fire 
had  been  pulled  to  pieces. 

*'Down  there  they  not  see  nothin  V'  said  Ibrahim,  point- 
ing towards  the  darkness  before  them. 

"And  the  men?  Does  it  matter  about  the  men?"  she 
asked  perfunctorily.    She  did  not  feel  that  she  really  cared. 

**A11  the  men  sleepin',  except  Hamza.     Him  watchin'." 

The  tents  of  the  men  were  at  some  distance.  She  looked, 
and  saw  no  movement,  no  figures  except  the  faint  and  gro- 
tesque silhouettes  of  the  hobbled  camels. 

**I  say  that  I  follow  my  Lord  Arminigel." 

They  started  into  the  desert.  As  they  left  the  camp, 
Mrs.  Armine  saw  Hamza  behind  her  tent,  patrolling  with 
a  matchlock  over  his  shoulder. 

The  night  was  dark  and  starless;  the  breeze,  though 
slight  and  wavering  over  the  sands,  was  penetrating  and 


296  BELLA  DONNA 

<?old.  The  feet  of  Mrs.  Armine  sank  down  at  each  step 
into  the  deep  and  yielding  sands  as  she  went  on  into  the 
blackness  of  the  immeasurable  desert.  And  as  she  gazed 
before  her  at  the  hollow  blackness  and  felt  the  i^nmensity 
of  the  unpeopled  spaces,  it  seemed  to  her  that  Ibrahim 
was  leading  her  into  some  crazy  adventure,  that  they  were 
going  only  towards  the  winds,  the  desolate  sands,  and  the 
darkness  that  might  be  felt.  He  did  not  speak  to  her,  nor 
she  to  him,  till  she  heard,  apparently  near  them  the  angry 
snarl  of  a  camel.     Then  she  stopped. 

^*Did  you  hear  that?  There's  some  one  near  us,*'  she 
said. 

**My  lady  come  on!  That  is  a  very  good  dromedary 
for  us.'' 

**Ah!"  she  said. 

She  hastened  forward  again.  In  two  or  three  seeonda 
the  camel  snarled  furiously  again. 

*  *  The  Bedouin  he  make  him  do  that  to  tell  us  where  he 
is,"  said  Ibrahim. 

He  cried  out  some  words  in  Arabic.  A  violent  guttural 
voice  replied  out  of  the  darkness.  In  a  moment,  under  the 
lee  of  a  sand  dune,  they  came  upon  two  muffled  figures  hold- 
ing two  camels,  which  were  lying  down.  Upon  one  there 
was  a  sort  of  palanquin,  in  which  Mrs.  Armine  took  her  seat, 
with  a  Bedouin  sitting  in  front.  A  stick  was  plied.  The 
beast  protested,  filling  the  hollow  of  the  night  with  a  com- 
plaint that  at  last  became  almost  leonine;  then  suddenly 
rose  up,  was  silent,  and  started  off  at  a  striding  trot. 

Mrs.  Armine  could  not  measure  either  the  time  that 
elapsed  or  the  space  that  was  covered  during  that  journey. 
She  was  filled  with  a  sense  of  excitement  and  adventure 
that  she  had  never  experienced  before,  and  that  made  her 
feel  oddly  young.  The  dark  desert,  swept  by  the  chilling 
breeze,  became  to  her  suddenly  a  place  of  strong  hopes  and 
of  desires  leaping  towards  fulfilment  She  was  warmed 
through  and  through  by  expectation,  as  she  had  not  been 
warmed  by  the  great  camp  fire  that  had  been  kindled  to 
greet  Nigel.     And  when  at  last  in  the  distance  there  shone 


BELLA  DONNA  297 

out  a  light,  like  an  earth-bound  star,  to  her  all  the  desert 
seemed  glowdng  with  an  almost  exultant  radiance. 

But  the  light  was  surely  far  away,  for  though  the 

dromedary  swung  on  over  the  desert,  it  did  not  seem  to 

her  to  grow  clearer  or  brighter,  but  like  a  distant  eye  it 

regarded  her  with  an  almost  cruel  steadiness,  as  if  it  calmly 

v>ad  her  soul. 

And  she  thought  of  Baroudi's  eyes,  and  looking  again 
at  the  yellow  light,  she  felt  as  if  he  were  watching  her 
calmly  from  some  fastness  of  the  sands  to  which  she  could 
not  draw  near. 

In  the  desert  it  is  diiScult  to  measure  distances.  Just 
as  Mrs.  Armine  was  thinking  that  she  could  never  gain  that 
light,  it  broadened,  broke  up  into  forms,  the  forms  of  leap- 
ing flames  blown  this  way  and  that  by  the  stealthy  wind  of 
the  waste,  became  abruptly  a  fire  revealing  vague  silhou- 
ettes of  camels,  of  crouching  men,  of  tents,  of  guard  dogs, 
of  hobbled  horses.  She  was  in  the  midst  of  a  camp  pitched 
far  out  in  a  lonely  place  of  the  sands  within  sight  of  no 
oasis. 

The  dromedary  knelt.  She  was  on  her  feet  with  Ibra- 
him standing  beside  her. 

P^'or  a  moment  she  felt  dazed.  She  stood  still,  con- 
sciously pressing  her  feet  down  against  the  sand  which 
glowed  in  the  light  from  the  flames.  She  saw  eyes — the 
marvellous,  birdlike  eyes  of  Bedouins — steadily  regarding 
her  beneath  the  darkness  of  peaked  hoods.  She  heard  the 
crackle  of  flames  in  the  windy  silence,  a  soft  grating  sound 
that  came  from  the  jaws  of  feeding  camels.  Dogs  snuffed 
about  her  ankles. 

*  *  My  lady,  you  comin '  with  me ! ' ' 

Mechanically  she  followed  Ibrahim  away  from  the  fire, 
across  a  strip  of  sand  to  a  large  tent  that  stood  apart.  As; 
she  drew  near  to  it  her  heart  began  to  beat  violently  and 
irregularly,  and  she  felt  almost  like  a  girl.  For  years  she 
had  not  felt  so  young  as  she  felt  to-night.  In  this  dark 
desert,  among  these  men  of  Africa,  all  her  worldly  knowl- 
edge,  all  her  experience  of  men  in  civilizied  countries  seemed. 


298  BELLA  DONNA 

of  no  use  to  her.  It  was  as  if  she  shed  it,  cast  it  as  a  snake 
casts  its  skin,  and  stood  there  in  a  new  ignorance  that  was 
akin  to  the  wondering  ignorance  of  youth.  The  canvas 
flap  that  was  the  door  of  the  tent  was  fastened  down, 
Ibrahim  went  up  to  it  and  called  out  something.  For  a 
moment  there  was  no  answer.  During  that  moment  Mrs. 
Armine  had  time  to  notice  a  second  smaller  tent  standing, 
with  Baroudi's,  apart  from  all  the  others.  And  she 
fancied,  but  was  not  certain,  that  as  for  an  instant  the 
breeze  died  down,  she  heard  within  it  a  thin  sound  like  the 
plucked  strings  of  some  instrument  of  music.  Then  the 
canvas  of  the  big  tent  was  lifted,  light  shone  out  from 
wdthin,  and  she  saw  the  strong  outline  of  a  man.  He 
looked  into  the  night,  drew  back,  and  she  entered  quickly 
and  stood  before  Baroudi.  Then  the  canvas  fell  down 
behind  her,  shutting  out  the  night  and  the  desert. 

Baroudi  was  dressed  in  Arab  costume.  His  head  was 
covered  with  a  white  turban  spangled  with  gold,  his  face 
was  framed  in  snowy  white,  and  his  great  neck  was  hidden 
by  drapery.  He  wore  a  kuftan  of  striped  and  flowered 
silk  vnth  long  sleeves,  fastened  round  his  waist  with  lengths 
of  muslin.  Over  this  was  a  robe  of  scarlet  cloth.  His  legs 
were  bare  of  socks,  and  on  his  feet  were  native  slippers 
of  scarlet  morocco  leather.  In  his  left  hand  he  held  an 
immensely  long  pipe  with  an  ivory  mouthpiece. 

Mrs.  Armine  looked  from  him  to  his  tent,  to  the  thick, 
bright-coloured  silks  which  entirely  concealed  the  canvas 
walls,  to  the  magnificent  carpets  which  blotted  out  the  desert 
sands,  to  the  great  hanging  lamp  of  silver,  which  was 
fastened  by  a  silver  chain  to  the  peaked  roof,  to  the  masses 
of  silk  cushions  of  various  hues  that  were  strewn  about  the 
floor.  Once  again  her  nostrils  drew  in  the  faint  but  heavy 
perfume  which  she  always  associated  with  Baroudi,  and 
now  with  the  whole  of  the  East,  and  with  all  Eastern 
things. 

That  racing  dromedary  had  surely  carried  her  through 
the  night  from  one  world  to  another.  Suddenly  she  felt 
tired;  she  felt  that  she  longed  to  lie  down  upon  those 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  299 

great  silk  cushions,  between  those  coloured  walls  of  silk 
that  shut  out  the  windy  darkness  and  the  sad  spaces  of  the 
sands,  and  to  stay  there  for  a  long  time.  The  courtesan's 
lazy,  luxurious  instinct  drowsed  within  her  soul,  and  her 
whole  body  responded  to  this  perfumed  warmth,  to  this 
atmosphere  of  riches  created  by  the  man  before  her  in  the 
core  of  desolation. 

She  sighed,  and  looked  at  his  eyes. 

**And  how  is  Mr.  Armeen?"  he  said,  with  the  faintly 
ironic  inflection  which  she  had  noticed  in  their  first  inter- 
view alone.     * '  Has  he  gone  out  after  the  jackal  ? ' ' 

What  his  intention  was  she  did  not  know,  but  he  could 
not  have  said  anything  to  her  at  that  moment  that  would 
have  struck  more  rudely  upon  her  sensuous  pleasure  in  the 
change  one  step  had  brought  her.  His  words  instantly 
put  before  her  the  necessity  for  going  presently,  very  soon, 
back  to  the  camp  and  Nigel,  and  they  woke  up  in  her  the 
secret  woman,  the  woman  who  still  retained  the  instincts  of 
a  lady.  This  lady  realized,  almost  as  Eve  realized  her 
nakedness,  the  humiliation  of  that  rush  through  the  night 
from  one  camp  to  another,  the  humiliation  that  lay  in  the 
fact  that  it  was  she  who  sought  the  man,  that  he  had  her 
brought  to  him,  did  not  trouble  to  come  to  her.  She  red- 
dened beneath  the  paint  on  her  face,  turned  s^\dftly  round, 
bent  down,  and  tried  to  undo  the  canvas  flap  of  the  tent 
Her  intention  was  to  go  out,  to  call  Ibrahim,  to  leave  the 
camp  at  once.  But  her  hands  trembled  and  she  could 
not  undo  the  canvas.  Still  bending,  she  struggled  with  it, 
She  heard  no  movement  behind  her.  Was  Baroudi  calmly 
waiting  for  her  to  go?  Some  one  must  have  pegged  th^ 
flap  down  after  she  had  come  in.  She  would  have  to  kneel 
down  on  the  carpet  to  get  at  the  fastenings.  It  seemed  to 
her,  in  her  nervous  anger  and  excitement,  that  to  kneel 
in  that  tent  would  be  a  physical  sign  of  humiliation; 
nevertheless,  after  an  instant  of  hesitation,  she  sank  to  the 
ground  and  pushed  her  hands  forcibly  under  the  canvas, 
feeling  almost  frantically  for  the  ropes.  She  grasped 
something,  a  rope,  a  peg — she  did  not  know  what — and 
pulled  and  tore  at  it  with  all  her  force. 


300  BELLA  DONNA 

Just  then  the  night  wind,  which  blew  waywardly  over 
the  sands,  now  rising  in  a  gust  that  was  almost  fierce,  now 
dying  away  into  a  calm  that  was  almost  complete,  failed 
suddenly,  and  she  heard  a  frail  sound  which,  by  its  very 
frailty,  engaged  all  her  attention.  It  was  a  reiteration  of 
the  sound  which  she  thought  she  had  heard  as  she  waited 
outside  the  tent,  and  this  time  she  was  no  longer  in  doubt. 
It  was  the  cry  of  an  instrument  of  music,  a  stringed  instru- 
ment of  some  kind,  plucked  by  demure  fingers.  The  cry 
was  repeated.  A  whimsical  Eastern  melody,  very  delicate 
and  pathetic,  crept  to  her  from  without. 

It  suggested  to  her — women. 

Her  hands  became  inert,  and  her  fingers  dropped  from 
the  tent-pegs.  She  thought  of  the  other  tent,  of  the  smaller 
tent  she  had  seen,  standing  apart  near  Baroudi's.  Who 
was  living  in  that  tent  ? 

The  melody  went  on,  running  a  wayward  course.  It 
might  almost  be  a  bird's  song  softly  trilled  in  some  desolate 
place  of  the  sands,  but 

It  died  away  into  the  night,  and  the  night  wind  rose 
again. 

Mrs.  Armine  got  up  from  her  knees.  Her  hands  were 
trembling  no  longer.     She  no  longer  wished  to  go. 

*' Arrange  some  of  those  cushions  for  me,  Baroudi,"  she 
said.     *'I  am  tired  after  my  ride.'' 

He  had  not  moved  from  where  he  had  been  standing 
when  she  came  in,  but  she  noticed  that  his  long  pipe  had 
dropped  from  his  hand  and  was  lying  on  the  carpet. 

* '  Where  shall  I  put  them  ? "  he  asked,  gravely. 

She  pointed  to  the  side  of  the  tent  which  was  nearest 
to  the  smaller  tent. 

** Against  the  silk,  two  or  three  cushions.  Then  I  can 
lean  back.     That  will  do." 

She  unbuttoned  her  fur  jacket. 

*  *  Help  me ! "  she  said. 

He  drew  it  gently  off.  She  sat  down,  and  pulled  off  her 
gloves.     She  arranged  the  cushions  with  care  behind  her 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  301| 

back.  Her  manner  was  that  of  a  woman  who  meant  to  stay 
where  she  was  for  a  long  time.  She  was  listening  intently 
to  hear  the  music  again,  but  her  face  did  not  show  that 
she  was  making  any  effort.  Her  self  was  restored  to  her^ 
and  her  self  was  a  woman  who  in  a  certain  world,  a  world 
where  women  crudely,  and  sometimes  quite  openly,  battle 
w4th  other  women  for  men,  had  for  a  long  time  resolutely^ 
successfully,  even  cruelly,  held  her  own. 

Baroudi  watched  her  with  serious  eyes.  He  picked  up 
his  pipe  and  let  himself  do^\Ti  on  his  haunches  close  to 
where  she  was  leaning  against  her  cushions.  The  night 
wind  blew  more  strongly.  There  was  no  sound  from  the 
other  tent.  When  Mrs.  Armine  knew  that  the  wind  must 
drown  that  strange,  frail  music,  even  if  the  hidden  player 
still  carelessly  made  it,  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  brutality : 

''And  if  my  husband  comes  back  to  camp  before  my 
return  there?" 

''He  will  not." 

"We  can't  know." 

"The  dromedary  will  take  you  there  in  fifteen  minutes." 

"He  may  be  there  now.     If  he  is  there?" 

"Do  you  wash  him  to  be  there?" 

He  had  penetrated  her  thought,  gone  down  to  her  desire. 
That  sound  of  music,  that  little  cry  of  some  desert  lute 
plucked  by  demure  fingers,  perhaps  stained  with  the  henna, 
the  colour  of  joy,  had  rendered  her  reckless.  At  that 
moment  she  longed  for  a  crisis.  And  yet,  at  his  question, 
something  within  her  recoiled.  Could  she  be  afraid  of 
Nigel?  Could  she  cower  before  his  goodness  when  it 
realized  her  evil  ?  Marriage  had  surely  subtly  changed  her, 
giving  back  to  her  desires,  prejudices,  even  pruderies  of 
feeling  that  she  had  thought  she  had  got  rid  of  for  ever 
long  ago.  Some  spectral  instincts  of  the  "straight"  woman 
still  feebly  strove,  it  seemed,  to  lift  their  bowed  heads 
within  her. 

"Things  can't  go  on  like  this,"  she  said.  "I  don't 
know  what  I  wish.  But  I  am  not  going  to  allow  myself 
to  be  treated  as  you  think  you  can  treat  me.    Do  you  kno^^ 


S02  BELLA  DONNA 

that  in  Europe  men  have  mined  themselves  for  me — ^ruined 
themselves  ? ' ' 

* '  You  liked  that ! "  he  intercepted,  with  a  smile  of  under- 
standing. * '  You  liked  that  very  much.  But  I  should  never 
dothaf 

He  shook  his  head. 

'*I  would  give  you  many  things,  but  I  am  not  one  of 
those  what  the  Englishman  calls  'dam  fools.'  '* 

The  practical  side  of  his  character,  thus  suddenly  dis- 
played, was  like  a  cool  hand  laid  upon  her.  It  was  like 
a  medicine  to  her  fever.  It  seemed  for  a  moment  to  domi- 
nate a  raging  disease — the  disease  of  her  desire  for  him — 
which  created,  to  be  its  perpetual  companion,  a  furious 
Jealousy  involving  her  whole  body,  her  whole  spirit. 

** Because  you  don't  care  for  me,"  she  said,  after  a 
moment  of  hesitation,  and  again  running,  almost  in  despite 
of  herself,  to  meet  her  humiliation.  **  Every  man  who  cares 
for  a  woman  can  be  a  fool  for  her,  even  an  Eastern  man.*' 

**Why  do  I  come  here,"  he  said,  'Hwo  days  through  the 
desert  from  the  Sphinx  ? ' ' 

'*It  amuses  you  to  pursue  an  Englishwoman.  You  are 
cruel,  and  it  amuses  you. ' ' 

Her  cruelty  to  Nigel  understood  Baroudi's  cruelty  to 
her  quite  clearly  at  that  moment,  and  she  came  very  near 
to  a  knowledge  of  the  law  of  compensation. 

His  eyes  narrowed. 

** Would  you  rather  I  did  not  pursue  you?" 

She  was  silent. 

**  Would  you  rather  be  left  quietly  to  your  life  with 
Mr.  Armeen?" 

*'0h,  I'm  sick  of  my  life  with  him!"  she  cried  out, 
desperately.  **It  would  be  better  if  he  were  in  camp  to- 
night when  I  got  back  there ;  it  would  be  much  better!" 

**  And  if  he  were  in  camp — would  you  tell  him  ?" 

Contempt  crawled  in  his  voice. 

**You  are  not  like  one  of  our  women,"  he  said.  '*They 
know  how  to  do  what  they  want  even  behind  the  shutters 
of  their  husbands'  houses.  They  are  clever  women  when 
they  walk  in  the  ways  of  love." 


•  «•  .J.  ♦      * 


BELLA  DONNA  303 

He  had  made  her  feel  like  a  child.  He  had  struck  hard 
apon  her  pride  of  a  successful  demi-mondaine. 

"Of  course  I  shouldn't  tell  him!"  she  said.  *'But  per- 
haps it  would  be  better  if  I  did.     For  I  'm  tired  of  my  life. ' ' 

Again  the  horrible  melancholy  which  so  often  comes  to 
women  of  her  type  and  age,  and  of  which  she  was  so  almost 
angrily  afraid,  flowed  over  her.  She  must  live  as  she  wished 
to  live  in  these  few  remaining  years.  She  must  break  out 
of  prison  quickly,  or,  when  she  did  break  out,  there  would 
be  no  freedom  that  she  could  enjoy.  She  had  so  little  time 
to  lose.  She  could  tell  nothing  to  Baroudi  of  all  this,  but 
perhaps  she  could  make  him  feel  the  force  of  her  desire 
in  such  a  way  that  an  equal  force  of  answering  desire  would 
wake  in  him.  Perhaps  she  had  never  really  exerted  herself 
enough  to  put  forth,  when  with  him,  all  the  powers  of  her 
fascination,  long  tempered  and  tried  in  the  blazing  furnaces 
of  life. 

The  gusty  wind  died  down  across  the  sands,  and  again 
she  heard  the  frail  sound  of  the  desert  lute.  It  wavered 
into  her  ears,  like  something  supple,  yielding,  insinuating. 

There  was  a  woman  in  that  tent. 

And  she,  Bella  Donna,  must  go  back  to  camp  almost 
directly,  and  leave  Baroudi  with  that  woman!  She  was 
being  chastised  with  scorpions  to-night. 

*'Why  did  you  come  to  this  place?"  she  said. 

**To  be  with  you  for  an  hour." 

The  irony,  the  gravity,  that  seemed  almost  cold  in  its 
calm,  died  out  of  his  eyes,  and  was  replaced  by  a  shining 
that  changed  his  whole  aspect. 

There  was  the  divine  madness  in  him  too,  then.  Or 
was  it  only  the  madness  that  is  not  divine?  She  did  not 
ask  or  care  to  know. 

The  night  wind  rose  again,  drowning  the  little  notes  of 
the  desert  lute. 

#  *  •  *  * 

That  night,  without  being  aware  of  it,  Mrs.  Armine 
crossed  a  Rubicon.  She  crossed  it  when  she  came  out  of 
the  big  tent  into  the  sands  to  go  back  to  the  camp  by  the 


^04  BELLA  DONNA 

lake.  While  she  had  been  with  Baroudi  the  sky  had  par- 
tially cleared.  Above  the  tents  and  the  blazing  fire  some 
stars  shone  out  benignly.  A  stillness  and  a  pellucid  clear- 
.ness  that  were  full  of  remote  romance  were  making  the 
vast  desert  their  sacred  possession.  The  aspect  of  the  camp 
had  changed.  It  was  no  longer  a  lurid  and  mysterious 
assemblage  of  men,  animals,  and  tents,  half  revealed  in  the 
light  of  blown  flames,  half  concealed  by  the  black  mantle 
of  night,  but  a  tranquil  and  restful  picture  of  comfort  and 
of  repose,  full  of  the  quiet  detail  of  feeding  beasts,  and 
men  smoking,  sleeping,  or  huddling  together  to  tell  the 
everlasting  stories  and  play  the  games  of  draughts  that  the 
Arabs  love  so  well. 

But  blackness  and  gusty  storm  were  within  her,  and 
made  the  vision  of  this  desert  place,  governed  by  the  huge 
calm  of  the  immersing  night  in  this  deep  hour  of  rest, 
almost  stupefying  by  its  contrast  with  herself. 

Baroudi  had  gone  out  first  to  speak  with  Ibrahim.  She 
saw  him,  made  unusually  large  and  imposing  by  the  ample 
robes  he  wore,  the  innumerable  folds  of  muslin  round  his 
head,  stride  slowly  across  the  sand  and  mingle  with  his 
attendants,  w^ho  all  rose  up  as  he  joined  them.  For  a 
moment  she  stood  quite  still  just  beyond  the  shadow  of  tho 
tent. 

The  exquisitely  cool  air  touched  her,  to  make  her  know 
that  she  was  on  fire.  The  exquisite  clearness  fell  around 
her,  to  make  her  realize  the  misty  confusion  of  her  soul. 
She  trembled  as  she  stood  there.  Not  only  her  body,  but 
her  whole  nature  was  quivering. 

And  then  she  heard  again  the  player  upon  the  lute,  and 
she  saw  a  faint  ray  of  light  upon  the  sand  by  the  tent  she 
had  not  entered.  She  buttoned  her  fur  jacket,  twisted  her 
gloves  in  her  hands,  and  looked  towards  the  ray.  There 
was  a  hard  throbbing  in  her  temples,  and  just  beneath  her 
shoulders  there  came  a  sudden  shock  of  cold,  that  was  like 
the  cold  of  menthol.  She  looked  again  at  the  camp  fire; 
then  she  stole  over  the  sand,  set  her  feet  on  the  ray,  and 
waited. 


BELLA  DONNA  305 

For  the  first  time  she  realized  that  she  was  afraid  of 
Baroudi,  that  she  would  shrink  from  offending  him  almost 
as  a  dog  shrinks  from  offending  its  master.  But  would  it 
anger  him  if  she  saw  the  lute-player?  He  had  not  taken 
the  trouble  to  silence  that  music.  He  treated  women  de 
haut  en  has.  That  was  part  of  his  fascination  for  them — 
at  any  rate,  for  her.  "What  would  he  care  if  she  knew  he 
had  a  woman  with  him  in  the  camp,  if  she  saw  the  woman  ? 

And  even  if  he  were  angry  ?  She  thought  of  his  anger, 
and  knew  that  at  this  moment  she  would  risk  it — she  would 
risk  anything — to  see  the  woman  in  that  tent.  Thinking 
with  great  rapidity  in  her  nervous  excitement  and  bitter 
jealousy,  become  tenfold  more  bitter  now  that  the  moment 
had  arrived  for  her  departure,  she  imagined  what  the 
woman  must  be :  probably  some  exquisite,  fair  Circassian, 
young,  very  young,  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  old,  or  perhaps 
a  maiden  from  the  Fayytim,  the  region  of  lovely  dark  maid- 
ens with  broad  brows,  oval  faces,  and  long  and  melting 
black  eyes.  Her  fancy  drew  and  painted  marvellous 
girls  in  the  night.  Then,  as  a  louder  note,  almost  like  a 
sigh,  came  from  the  tent,  she  moved  forward,  lifted  the 
canvas,  and  looked  in. 

The  interior  was  unlike  the  interior  of  Baroudi^s  tent. 
Here  nothing  was  beautiful,  though  nearly  everything  was 
gaudy.  The  canvas  was  covered  with  coarse  striped  stuff, 
bright  red  and  yellow,  with  alternate  red  and  yellow  rosettes 
all  round  the  edge  near  the  sand,  which  was  strewn  with  bits 
of  carpet  on  which  enormous  flowers  seemed  to  be  writhing 
in  a  wilderness  of  crude  green  and  yellow  leaves.  Fastened 
to  the  walls,  in  tarnished  frames,  were  many  little  pictures — 
oleographs  of  the  most  blatant  type,  chalk  drawings  of 
personages  such  as  might  people  an  ugly  dream;  men  in 
uniforms  with  red  noses  and  bulbous  cheeks;  dogs,  cats, 
and  sand-lizards,  and  coloured  plates  cut  out  of  picture 
papers.  Mingled  with  these  were  several  objects  that  Mrs. 
Armine  guessed  to  be  charms,  a  mus-haf,  or  copy  of  the 
Koran,  enclosed  in  a  silver  case  which  hung  from  a  string 
of  yellow  silk;  one  or  two  small  scrolls  and  bits  of  paper 
20 


S06  BELLA  DONNA 

covered  with  Arab  writing;  two  tooth-sticks  in  a  wooden 
tube,  open  at  one  end;  a  child's  shoe  tied  with  string,  to 
which  were  attached  bits  of  coral  and  withered  flowers ;  sev- 
eral tassels  of  shells  mingled  with  bright  blue  and  white 
beads;  a  glass  bottle  of  blessed  storax;  and  a  quantity  of 
Fatma  hands,  some  very  large  and  made  of  silver  gilt,  set 
with  stones  and  lumps  of  a  red  material  that  looked  like 
sealing-wax,  others  of  silver  and  brass,  small  and  practically 
worthless.  There  was  also  the  foot  of  some  smaU  animal  set 
in  a  battered  silver  holder.  On  a  deal  table  stood  a  smoking 
oil  lamp  of  mean  design  and  cheap  material.  Underneath 
it  was  a  large  wooden  chest  or  coffer,  studded  vrith.  huge 
brass  nails,  clamped  with  brass,  and  painted  a  brilliant 
green.  Near  it,  touching  the  canvas  waU,  was  a  mattress 
covered  with  gaudy  rugs  that  served  as  a  bed. 

In  the  tent  there  were  two  people.  Although  the  thin 
sound  of  the  music  had  suggested  a  woman  to  Mrs.  Armine, 
the  player  was  not  a  woman,  but  a  tall  and  large  young 
man,  dressed  in  a  bright  yellow  jacket  cut  like  a  ''Zouave," 
wide  drawers  of  white  linen,  yellow  slippers,  and  the 
tarbush.  Round  his  waist  there  was  a  girdle,  made  of  a  long 
and  narrow  red  and  yellow  shawl  with  fringes  and  tassels. 
He  was  squatting  cross-legged  on  the  hideous  carpet,  hold- 
ing in  his  large,  pale  hands,  ai-tificially  marked  with  blue 
spots  and  tinted  at  the  nails  with  the  henna,  a  strange  little 
instrument  of  sand-tortoise,  goat-skin,  wood,  and  catgut, 
with  four  strings  from  which  he  was  drawing  the  plaintive 
and  wavering  tune.  He  wore  a  moustache  and  a  small, 
blue-black  beard.  His  eyes  were  half  shut,  his  head 
drooped  to  one  side,  his  mouth  was  partly  open,  and  the 
expression  upon  his  face  was  one  of  weak  and  sickly  con- 
tentment. Now  and  then  he  sang  a  few  notes  in  a  with- 
drawn and  unnatural  voice,  slightly  shook  his  large  and 
flaccid  body,  and  allowed  his  head  to  tremble  almost  as  if  he 
were  seized  with  palsy.  Despite  his  breadth,  his  large 
limbs,  and  his  beard,  there  was  about  his  whole  person  an 
indescribable  effeminacy,  which  seemed  hoightcTied,  rather 
than  diminished,  by  his  bulk  and  his  virile  contours.     A 


BELLA  DONNA  307 

little  way  from  him  on  the  mattress  a  girl  was  sitting 
straight  up,  like  an  idol,  with  her  legs  and  feet  tucked  away 
'\nd  completely  concealed  by  her  draperies. 

Mrs.  Armine  looked  from  the  man  to  her  with  the  almost 
ferocious  eagerness  of  the  bitterly  jealous  woman.  For  she 
guessed  at  once  that  the  man  was  no  lover  of  this  girl,  but 
merely  an  attendant,  perhaps  a  eunuch,  who  ministered  tu 
her  pleasure.  This  was  Baroudi's  woman,  who  would  stay 
here  in  the  tent  beside  him,  while  she,  the  fettered,  Euro- 
pean woman,  would  ride  back  in  the  night  to  Kurun.  Yet 
could  this  be  Baroudi's  woman,  this  painted,  jewelled,  be- 
dizened creature,  almost  macawlike  in  her  bright-coloured 
finery,  who  remained  quite  still  upon  her  rugs — like  the 
macaw  upon  its  perch — indifferent,  somnolent  surely,  or 
perhaps  steadily,  enigmatically  watchful,  with  a  cigarette 
between  her  painted  lips,  above  the  chin,  on  which  was  tat- 
tooed a  pattern  resembling  a  little,  indigo-coloured  beard 
or  ''imperial"?  Could  he  be  attracted  by  this  face,  which, 
though  it  seemed  young  under  its  thick  vesture  of  paint  and 
collyrium,  would  surely  not  be  thought  pretty  by  any  man 
who  was  familiar  with  the  beauties  of  Europe  and  America, 
this  face  with  its  heavy  features,  its  sultry,  sullen  eyes, 
its  plump  cheeks,  and  sensual  lips? 

Yes,  he  could.  As  she  looked,  with  the  horrible  intuition 
of  a  feverishly  strung  up  and  excited  woman  Mrs.  Armine 
felt  the  fascination  such  a  creature  held  to  tug  at  a  man 
like  Baroudi.  Here  was  surely  no  mind,  but  only  a  body 
containing  the  will,  inherited  from  how  many  Ghawazee 
ancestors,  to  be  the  plaything  of  man;  a  well-made  body, 
yes,  even  beautifully  made,  with  no  heaviness  such  as 
showed  in  the  face,  a  body  that  could  move  lightly,  take 
supple  attitudes,  dance,  posture,  bend,  or  sit  up  straight, 
as  now,  with  the  perfect  rigidity  of  an  idol;  a  body  that 
could  wear  rightly  cascades  of  wonderfully  tinted  draperies, 
and  spangled,  vaporous  tissues,  and  barbaric  jewels,  that  do 
not  shine  brightly  as  if  reflecting  the  modem,  restless 
spirit,  but  that  are  somnolent  and  heavy  and  deep,  like  the 
eyes  of  the  Eastern  women  of  pleasure. 


,^K  eyes 

L 


SOS  BELLA  DONNA 

The  player  upon  the  desert  lute  had  not  seen  that  some 
one  stood  in  the  tent  door.  With  half-shut  eyes  he  con- 
tinued playing  and  singing,  lost  in  a  sickly  ecstasy.  The 
woman  on  the  gaudy  rug  sat  quite  still  and  stared  at  ^Irs. 
Armine.  She  showed  no  surprise,  no  anger,  no  curiosity. 
Her  expression  did  not  change.  Her  motionless,  painted 
mouth  was  set  like  a  mouth  carved  in  some  hard  material. 
Only  her  bosom  stirred  with  a  regular  movement  beneath 
her  coloured  tissues,  her  jewels  and  strings  of  coins. 

Mrs.  Armine  stepped  into  the  tent  and  dropped  the  flap 
behind  her.  She  did  not  know  what  she  was  going  to  do, 
but  she  was  filled  with  a  bitter  curiosity  that  she  could  not 
resist,  with  an  intense  desire  to  force  her  way  into  this 
woman's  life,  a  life  so  strangely  different  from  her  own, 
yet  linked  with  it  by  Baroudi.  She  hated  this  woman,  yet 
with  her  hatred  was  mingled  a  subtle  admiration,  a  desire 
to  touch  this  painted  toy  that  gave  him  pleasure,  a  longing 
to  prove  its  attraction,  to  plumb  the  depth  of  its  fascination, 
to  learn  from  it  a  lesson  in  the  strange  lore  of  the  East. 
She  came  close  up  to  the  woman  and  stood  beside  her 

Instantly  one  of  the  painted  hands  went  up  to  ner 
jacket,  and  gently,  very  delicately,  touched  its  fur.  Then 
the  other  hand  followed,  and  tne  jacket  was  felt  with  won- 
dering fingers,  was  stroked  softly,  first  downwards,  then 
upwards,  while  the  dark  and  heavy  eyes  solemnly  noted  the 
thin  shine  of  the  shifting  skin.  The  curiosity  of  Mrs. 
Armine  was  met  by  another  but  childlike  curiosity,  and 
suddenly,  out  of  the  cloud  of  mystery  broke  a  ray  of  light 
that  was  naive. 

This  naivete  confused  Mrs.  Armine.  For  a  moment  it 
seemed  to  be  pushing  away  her  anger,  to  be  drawing  the 
sting  from  her  curiosity.  But  then  the  childishness  of  this 
strange  rival  stirred  up  in  her  a  more  acrid  bitterness  than 
she  had  known  till  now.  And  the  wondering  touch  became 
intolerable  to  her.  Why  should  such  a  creature  be  per- 
fectly happy,  while  she  with  her  knowledge,  her  experience, 
her  tempered  and  perfected  powers,  lived  in  a  turmoil  of 
misery?    She  looked  down  into  the  Ghawazee's  eyes,  and 


BELLA  DONNA  309 

suddenly  the  painted  hands  dropped  from  the  fur,  and 
she  was  confronted  by  a  woman  who  was  no  longer  naive, 
who  understood  her,  and  whom  she  could  understand. 

The  voice  of  the  lute-player  died  away,  the  thin  cry  of 
the  strings  failed.  He  had  seen.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
said  something  in  a  language  Mrs.  Armine  could  not  under- 
stand. iThe  girl  replied  in  a  voice  that  sounded  ironic, 
and  suddenly  began  to  laugh.  At  the  same  moment  Ba- 
roudi  came  into  the  tent.  The  girl  called  out  to  him, 
pointed  at  Mrs.  Armine,  and  went  on  laughing.  He  smiled 
at  her,  and  answered. 

*'What  are  you  saying  to  her?"  said  Mrs.  Armine, 
fiercely.  ''How  dare  you  speak  to  her  about  me?  How 
dare  you  discuss  me  with  her  ? ' ' 

''P'f!  She  is  a  child.  She  knows  nothing.  The  camel 
is  ready.'' 

The  girl  spoke  to  him  again  with  great  rapidity,  and 
an  air  of  half-impudent  familiarity  that  sickened  Mrs. 
Armine.  Something  seemed  to  have  roused  within  her  a 
sense  of  boisterous  humour.  She  gesticulated  with  her 
painted  hands,  and  rocked  on  her  mattress  with  an  abandon 
almost  negroid.  Holding  his  lute  in  one  pale  hand,  and 
stroking  his  blue-black  beard  with  the  other,  her  huge  and 
flaccid  attendant  looked  calmly  on  without  smiling. 

Mrs.  Armine  turned  and  went  quickly  out  of  the  tent. 
Baroudi  spoke  again  to  the  girl,  joined  in  her  merriment, 
then  followed  Mrs.  Armine.  She  turned  upon  him  and 
took  hold  of  his  cloak  with  both  her  hands,  and  her  hands 
were  trembling  violently. 

''How  dared  you  bring  me  here?"  she  said.  **How 
dared  you?" 

"I  wanted  you.     You  know  it." 

"That's  not  true." 

"It  is  true." 

"  It  is  not  true.  How  could  you  want  me  when  you  had 
that  dancing-girl  with  you?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  almost  like  one  of  the 
Frenchmen  whom  he  had  met  ever  since  he  was  a  child. 


310  BELLA  DONNA 

**You  do  not  understand  the  men  of  the  East,  or  you 
forget  that  I  am  an  Oriental, ' '  he  said. 

A  sudden  idea  struck  her. 

*' Perhaps  you  are  married,  too?''  she  exclaimed. 

'  *  Of  course  I  am  married ! ' ' 

His  eyes  narrowed,  and  his  face  began  to  look  hard  and 
repellent. 

"  It  is  not  in  our  habits  to  discuss  these  things, ' '  he  said. 

She  felt  afraid  of  his  anger. 

''I  didn't  mean '' 

She  dropped  her  hands  from  his  cloak. 

'*But  haven't  I  a  right?"  she  began. 

She  stopped.  "What  was  the  use  of  making  any  claim 
upon  such  a  man  ?  What  was  the  use  of  wasting  upon  him 
any  feeling  either  of  desire  or  of  anger?  What  was  the 
use  ?  And  yet  she  could  not  go  without  some  understand- 
ing. She  could  not  ride  back  into  the  camp  by  the  lake 
and  settle  down  to  virtue,  to  domesticity  with  Nigel.  Her 
whole  nature  cried  out  for  this  man  imperiously.  His 
strangeness  lured  her.  His  splendid  physique  appealed 
to  her  with  a  power  she  could  not  resist.  He  dominated 
her  by  his  indifference  as  well  as  by  his  passion.  He  fas- 
cinated her  by  his  wealth,  and  by  his  almost  Jewish  faculty 
of  acquiring.  His  irony  whipped  her,  his  contempt  of 
morality  answered  to  her  contempt.  His  complete  knowl- 
edge of  what  she  was  warmed,  soothed,  reposed  her. 

But  the  thought  of  his  infidelity  to  her  as  soon  as  she 
was  away  from  him  roused  in  her  a  sort  of  madness. 

''How  am  I  to  see  you  again?"  she  said. 

And  all  that  she  felt  for  him  went  naked  in  her  vmVe. 

''How  am  I  to  see  you  again?" 

He  stood  and  looked  at  her. 

"And  what  is  to  happen  to  me  if  he  has  found  out  that 
I  have  been  away  from  the  camp?" 

"Hamza  will  make  an  explanation." 

"And  if  he  doesn't  believe  the  explanation?" 

"You  will  make  one.  You  will  never  tell  him  the 
truth." 


BELLA  DONNA  Sll 

It  was  a  cold  command  laid  like  a  yoke  upon  her. 

''He  can  never  know  I  have  been  here.  To-night,  di- 
rectly you  are  gone,  I  strike  my  tents  and  go  back  to  Cairo. 
I  do  not  choose  to  have  any  bad  affairs  with  the  English 
so  long  as  the  English  rule  in  Egypt.  I  am  well  looked 
upon  by  the  English,  and  so  it  must  continue.  Otherwise 
my  affairs  might  suffer.  And  that  I  will  not  have.  Do 
you  -understand  r ' 

She  looked  at  him,  and  said  nothing. 
*'We  have  to  do  what  we  want  in  the  world  without 
losing  anything  by  it.     Thus  it  has  always  been  with  me 
in  my  life.'* 

She  thought  of  all  she  had  lost  long  ago  by  doing  the 
thing  she  desired,  and  again  she  felt  herself  inferior  to 
him. 

"And  this,  too,  we  shall  do  without  losing  anything 
by  it,"  he  said. 

"This?    What?" 

' '  Go  back  to  Kurun.  Tell  me.  Will  you  not  presently 
need  to  have  a  dahabeeyah?" 

"And  if  we  do?" 

"You  shall  have  the  Loulia." 

"You  mean  to  come  with  us?" 

"Are  you  a  child?  I  shall  let  it  to  your  husband  at  a 
price  that  will  suit  his  purse,  so  that  you  may  be  housed  as 
you  ought  to  be.  I  shall  let  it  with  my  crew,  my  servants,, 
my  cook.  Then  you  must  take  your  husband  away  with 
you  quietly  up  the  Nile." 

Again  Mrs.  Armine  was  conscious  of  a  shock  of  cold. 

"Quietly  up  the  Nile?"  she  repeated. 

*'Yes." 

"What  is  the  use  of  that?" 

"Perhaps  he  will  like  the  Nile  so  much  that  he  will  not 
come  back." 

He  looked  into  her  eyes.  She  heard  the  snarl  of  a  cameL 

"Your  camel  is  ready,"  he  said. 
^L       They   walked    towards    the    fire   where    Ibrahim    was 
^■awaiting  them.    Before  Mrs.  Armine  had  settled  herself  in 


$12  BELLA  DONNA 

the  palanquin  Baroudi  moved  away  without  another  wordj 
and  as  the  camel  rose,  complaining  in  the  night,  she  saw 
him  lift  the  canvas  of  the  Ghawazee's  tent  and  disappear 
within  it. 

When  she  reached  the  camp  by  the  lake,  Nigel  had  not 
returned.  She  undressed  quickly,  got  into  bed,  and  lay 
there  shivering,  though  heavy  blankets  covered  her. 

Just  at  dawn  Nigel  came  back. 

Then  she  shut  her  eyes  and  pretended  to  sleep. 

Always  she  was  shivering. 


XXV 

*'Ruby/'  Nigel  said,  as  he  stood  with  her  on  the  deck 
of  the  Loulia  and  looked  up  at  the  Arabic  letters  of  gold  in- 
scribed above  the  doorway  through  which  they  were  going 
to  pass,  ''what  is  the  exact  meaning  of  those  words? 
Baroudi  told  us  that  day  at  Luxor,  but  I've  forgotten.  It 
was  some  lesson  of  fate,  something  from  the  Koran.  D  'you 
remember  1 ' ' 

She  turned  up  her  veil  over  the  brim  of  her  burnt-straw 
hat.     **Let  me  see!"  she  said. 

She  seemed  to  make  an  effort  of  memory,  and  lines 
came  on  her  generally  smooth  forehead. 

*'I  fancy  it  was  'The  fate  of  every  man  have  we  bound 
about  his  neck, '  or  something  very  like  that. ' ' 

"Yes,  that  was  it.  We  discussed  it,  and  I  said  I  wasn't 
a  fatalist." 

' '  Did  you  ?     Come  along.    Let 's  explore. ' ' 

*'Our  floating  home — ^yes." 

He  took  hold  of  her  arm. 

**If  my  fate  is  bound  about  my  neck,  it's  a  happy  fate," 
he  said — "a  fate  I  can  wear  as  a  jewel  instead  of  bearing 
as  a  burden." 

They  went  down  the  steps  together,  and  vanished 
through  the  doorway  into  the  shadows  beyond. 

The  Loulia  was  moored  at  Keneh,  not  far  from  the  tem- 
ple of  Denderah.     She  had  been  sent  up  the  river  from 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  SIS 

Assiout,  where  Baroudi  had  left  her  when  he  had  finished 
his  business  affairs  and  was  ready  to  start  for  Cairo.  It 
was  Nigel's  wish  that  he  and  his  wife  should  join  her  there, 

''Denderah  was  the  first  temple  you  and  I  saw  to- 
gether," he  said.  "Let's  see  it  more  at  our  leisure.  And 
let  us  ask  Aphrodite  to  bless  our  voyage.'' 

* '  Hathor !     What,  are  you  turning  pagan  ? ' '  she  said. 

He  laughed  as  he  looked  into  her  blue  eyes. 

''Scarcely ;  but  she  was  the  Egyptian  Goddess  of  Beauty, 
and  I  don't  think  she  could  deny  her  blessing  to  you." 

Then  she  was  looking  radiant! 

That  cold  which  had  made  her  shudder  in  the  night  by 
the  sacred  lake  had  been  left  in  the  desolation  of  Libya. 
Sureh'',  it  could  never  come  to  her  here  in  the  golden 
warmth  of  Upper  Egypt.  She  said  to  herself  that  she 
would  not  shudder  again  now  that  she  had  escaped  from 
that  blanched  end  of  the  world  where  desperation  had 
seized  her. 

The  day  of  departure  for  the  Nile  journey  had  come, 
and  Nigel  and  she  set  foot  upon  the  Loiilia  for  the  first  time 
as  proprietors. 

They  passed  the  doors  of  the  servants'  cabins,  and  came 
into  their  own  quarters.  Ibrahim  followed  softly  behind 
with  a  smiling  face,  and  Hamza,  standing  still  in  the  sun- 
shine beneath  the  golden  letters,  looked  after  them  imper- 
turbably. 

Baroudi 's  *  *  den ' '  had  been  swept  and  garnished.  Flow- 
ers and  small  branches  of  mimosa  decorated  it,  as  if  this 
day  were  festal.  The  writing-table,  which  had  been  loaded 
with  papers,  was  now  neat  and  almost  bare.  But  all,  or 
nearly  all,  Baroudi 's  books  were  still  in  their  places.  The 
marvellous  prayer  rugs  strewed  the  floor.  Ibrahim  had 
set  sticks  of  incense  burning  in  silver  holders.  Upon  the 
dining-room  table,  beyond  the  screen  of  mashrebeeyah  work, 
still  stood  the  tawdry  Japanese  vase.  And  the  absurd 
cuckoo  clock  uttered  \\&  foolish  sound  to  greet  them. 

''The  eastern  house!"  said  Nigel.  "You  little  thought 
you  would  ever  be  mistress  of  it,  did  you,  Ruby?    How 


S14  BELLA  DONNA 

wonderful  these  prayer  rugs  are !  But  we  must  get  rid  oi 
that  vase.*' 

* '  Why  ?  * '  she  said  hastily,  almost  sharply. 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

* '  You  don 't  mean  to  say  you  like  it  ?  Besides,  it  doesn't 
belong  to  the  room.     It's  a  false  note.'' 

**0f  course.  But  it  appeals  to  my  sense  of  humour — 
like  that  ridiculous  cuckoo  clock.  Don't  let's  change  any- 
thing.    The  incongruities  are  too  delicious." 

*  *  You  are  a  regular  baby ! "  he  said.  *  *  All  right.  Shall 
we  make  Baroudi's  *den'  your  boudoir?" 

She  nodded,  smiling. 

*'And  you  shall  use  it  whenever  you  like.  And  now 
for  the  bedrooms!" 

**More  incongruities,"  he  said.  **But  never  mind. 
They  looked  delightfully  clean  and  cosy." 

"Clean  and  cosy!"  she  repeated,  with  a  sort  of  light 
irony  in  her  beautiful  voice.     *'Is  that  all?" 

**Well,  Imean " 

*'I  know.     Come  along." 

They  opened  the  doors  and  looked  into  eaeh  gay  and 
luxurious  little  room.  And  as  Mrs.  Armine  went  from  one 
to  another,  she  was  aware  of  the  soft  and  warm  sensation 
that  steals  over  a  woman  returning  to  the  atmosphere  wliich 
thoroughly  suits  her,  and  from  which  she  has  long  been 
exiled.  Here  she  could  be  in  her  element,  for  here  money 
had  been  lavishly  spent  to  create  something  unique.  She 
felt  certain  that  no  dahabeeyah  on  the  Nile  was  so  perfect 
as  the  Loulia.  Every  traveller  upon  the  river  would  be 
obliged  to  envy  her.  For  a  moment  she  secretly  revelled 
in  that  thought;  then  she  remembered  something;  her 
face  clouded,  her  lips  tightened,  and  she  strove  to  chase 
from  her  mind  that  desire  to  be  envied  by  other  women. 

Nigel  and  she  must  avoid  the  crowds  that  gather  on  the 
Nile  in  the  spring.  They  must  tie  up  in  the  unfrequented 
places.  Had  she  not  reiterated  to  him  her  wish  to  **get 
away  from  people,"  to  see  only  the  native  life  on  the 
river?    Those  "other  women"  must  wait  to  be  envious, 


h 


BELLA  DONNA  315 

and  she,  too,  must  wait.  She  stifled  an  impatient  sigh, 
and  opened  another  door.  After  one  swift  glance  within, 
she  said: 

**I  will  have  this  cabin,  Nigel." 

''All  right,  darling.  An>i;hing  you  like.  But  let's 
have  a  look." 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  move. 

''Don't  be  selfish,  Ruby!" 

She  felt  fingers  touching  her  waist  at  the  back,  gripping 
her  with  a  sort  of  tender  strongness;  and  she  closed  her 
eyes,  and  tried  to  force  herself  to  believe  they  were 
Baroudi's  fingers  of  iron. 

"Or  I  shall  pick  you  up  and  lift  you  out  of  the  way." 

When  Nigel  spoke  again,  she  opened  her  eyes.  It  was 
no  use.  She  was  not  to  have  that  illusion.  She  set  her 
teeth  and  put  her  hands  behind  her,  feeling  for  his  fingers. 
Their  hands  met,  clasped.  She  fell  back,  and  let  him 
look  in. 

' '  Why,  this  must  be  Baroudi  's  cabin ! "  he  said. 

"I  dare  say.  But  what  I  want  it  for  is  the  size.  Don't 
you  see,  it's  double  the  size  of  the  others,"  she  said,  care- 
lessly. 

"So  it  is.  But  they  are  ever  so  much  gayer.  This  is 
quite  Oriental,  and  the  bed's  awfully  low." 

He  bent  down  and  felt  it. 

"It's  a  good  one,  though.  Trust  Baroudi  for  that. 
Well,  dear,  take  it;  I'll  turn  in  next  door.  We  can  easily 
talk  through  the  partition" — he  paused,  then  added  in  a 
lower  voice — "when  we  are  not  together.  Now  there's  the 
other  sitting-room  to  see  and  then  shall  we  be  off  to  Den- 
derah  with  Hamza,  while  Ibrahim  sees  to  the  arrange- 
ment of  everything  ? ' ' 

"Yes.  Or — shall  we  leave  the  other  room  till  we  come 
back,  till  it's  getting  twilight?  I  don't  think  I  want  to 
see  quite  everjrthing  just  at  once." 

"You're  becoming  a  regular  child,  saving  up  your 
pleasure.     Then  we'D  start  for  Denderah  now." 

"Yes." 


316  BELLA  DONNA 

She  drew  her  veil  over  her  face  rather  quickly,  and 
walked  down  the  passage,  through  the  arch  in  the  screen, 
and  out  to  the  brilliant  sunshine  that  flooded  the  sailors' 
deck.  For  though  the  Nubians  had  spread  an  a^vning  over 
their  heads,  they  had  not  let  down  canvas  as  yet  to  meet 
the  white  and  gold  of  the  bulwarks  forward.  And  there 
was  a  strong  sparkle  of  light  about  them.  In  the  midst  of 
that  sparkle  Ilamza  stood,  a  little  away  from  the  crew, 
who  were  tall,  stalwart,  black  men,  evidently  picked  men, 
for  not  one  was  mean  or  ugly,  not  one  lacked  an  eye  or  was 
pitted  with  smallpox. 

As  Mrs.  Armine  came  up  the  three  steps  from  the 
cabins,  walking  rather  hurriedly,  as  if  in  haste  to  get  to 
the  sunshine,  Hamza  sent  her  a  steady  look  that  was  like 
a  quiet  but  determined  rebuke.  His  eyes  seemed  to  say 
to  her,  "Why  do  you  rush  out  of  the  shadows  like  this?" 
And  she  felt  as  if  they  were  adding,  '*You  who  must 
learn  to  love  the  shadows."  His  look  affected  her  nerves, 
even  affected  her  limbs.  At  the  top  of  the  steps  she  stood 
still,  then  looked  round,  with  a  slight  gesture  as  if  she  would 
return. 

''What  is  it,  Ruby?"  asked  NigeL  ''Have  you  forgot- 
ten anything?" 

' '  No,  no.  Is  it  this  side  ?  Or  must  we  have  the  felucca  ? 
I  forget." 

"It's  this  side.  The  Loulia  is  tied  up  here  on  purpose. 
The  donkeys,  Hamza ! ' ' 

He  spoke  kindly,  but  in  the  authoritative  voice  of  the 
young  Englishman  addressing  a  native.  AYithout  changing 
his  expression,  Hamza  went  softly  and  swiftlj^  over  the 
gangway  to  the  shore,  climbed  the  steep  brown  bank,  and 
was  gone — a  flash  of  white  through  the  gold. 

"He's  a  useful  fellow,  that!"  said  Nigel.  "And  now, 
Ruby,  to  seek  the  blessing  of  the  Egyptian  Aphrodite.  It 
will  be  easily  won,  for  Aphrodite  could  never  turn  her 
face  from  you." 

As  their  tripping  donkeys  drew  near  to  that  lonely 
temple,  where  a  sad  Hathor  gazes  in  loneliness  upon  the 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  317 

courts  that  are  no  longer  thronged  with  worshippers,  Mrs. 
Armine  fell  into  silence.  The  disagreeable  impression  she 
had  received  here  on  her  first  visit  was  returning.  But 
on  her  first  visit  she  had  been  tired,  worn  with  travel.  Now 
she  was  strong,  in  remarkable  health.  She  would  not  be 
the  victim  of  her  nerves.  Nevertheless,  as  the  donkeys 
covered  the  rough  ground,  as  she  saw  the  pale  fagade  of 
the  temple  confronting  her  in  the  pale  sands,  backed  by 
the  almost  purple  sky,  she  remembered  the  carven  face  of 
the  goddess,  and  a  fear  that  was  superstitious  stirred  in  her 
heart.  Why  had  Nigel  suggested  that  they  should  seek  the 
blessing  of  this  tragic  Aphrodite?  No  blessing,  surely, 
could  emanate  from  this  dark  dwelling  in  the  sands,  from 
this  goddess  long  outraged  by  desertion. 

They  dismounted,  and  went  into  the  temple.  No  one 
was  there  except  the  chocolate-coloured  guardian,  who 
greeted  them  with  a  smile  of  welcome  that  showed  his 
broken  teeth. 

"  May  your  day  be  happy !  '^  he  said  to  them  in  Arabic. 

* '  He  ought  to  say,  '  May  all  your  days  on  the  Nile  be 
happy/  Euby/'  said  Nigel. 

"  He  only  wants  the  day  on  which  we  pay  him  to  be 
happy.  On  any  other  day  we  might  die  like  dogs,  and  he 
wouldn't  care." 

She  stood  still  in  the  first  court,  and  looked  up  at  the 
face  of  Hathor,  which  seemed  to  regard  the  distant  spaces 
with  an  eternal  sorrow. 

*'I  think  you  count  too  much  on  happiness,  Nigel,"  she 
added.  She  felt  almost  impelled  by  the  face  to  say  it.  **I 
oclieve  it's  a  mistake  to  count  upon  things,*'  she  added. 

*'You  think  it's  a  mistake  to  look  forward,  as  I  am 
doing,  to  our  Nile  journevT' 

**  Perhaps." 

She  walked  on  slowly  into  the  lofty  dimness  of  the 
temple. 

' '  One  never  knows  what  is  going  to  happen, ' '  she  added. 
And  there  was  almost  a  grimness  in  her  voice. 

'And  it  all  passes  away  so  fast,  whatever  it  is,"  he 


SI 8  BELLA  DONNA 

said.  **But  that  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  take  ouf 
happiness  and  enjoy  it  to  the  utmost.  "Why  do  you  try  to 
damp  my  enthusiasm  to-day  ? ' ' 

''I  don't  try.  But  it  is  dangerous  to  be  too  sure  of 
happiness  beforehand. ' ' 

She  was  speaking  superstitiously,  and  she  was  really 
speaking  to  herself,  At  first  she  had  been  thinking  of, 
speaking  to,  him  as  if  for  his  own  good,  moved  by  a  sort  of 
dim  pity  that  surely  belonged  rather  to  the  girl  she  had 
been  than  to  the  woman  she  actually  was.  Now  the  dark- 
ness of  this  lonely  temple  and  the  knowledge  that  it  was 
Aphrodite 's — she  thought  always  of  Hathor  as  Aphrodite — 
preyed  again  upon  her  spirit  as  when  she  first  came  to  it. 
She  felt  the  dreadful  brevity  of  a  woman 's,  of  any  woman 's 
triumph  over  the  world  of  men.  She  felt  the  ghastly  short- 
ness of  the  life  of  physical  beauty.  She  seemed  to  hear 
the  sound  of  the  movement  of  Time  rushing  away,  to  see 
the  darkness  of  the  End  closing  about  her,  as  now  the  dim- 
ness of  this  desolate  shrine  of  beauty  and  love  grew  deeper 
round  her. 

Far  up,  near  the  forbidding  gloom  of  the  mighty  roof, 
there  rose  a  fiercely  petulant  sound,  a  chorus  of  angry 
cries.  Large  shadows  with  beating  wings  came  and  went 
rapidly  through  the  forest  of  heavj^  columns.  The  mon- 
strous bats  of  Hathor  were  disturbed  in  their  brooding 
reveries.  A  heavy  smell,  like  the  odour  of  a  long-decaying 
past,  lifted  itself,  as  if  with  a  slow,  determined  effort,  to 
Mrs.  Armine's  nostrils.  And  ever  the  light  of  day  failed 
slowly  as  she  and  Nigel  went  onward,  drawn  in  despite  of 
themselves  by  the  power  of  the  darlvuess,  and  by  the  mys- 
terious perfumes  that  swept  up  from  the  breast  of  death. 

At  last  they  came  into  the  sanctuary,  the  **Holy  of 
Holies"  of  Denderah,  where  once  were  treasured  images 
of  the  gods  of  Egypt,  where  only  the  King  or  his  high  priest 
might  venture  to  come,  at  the  fete  of  the  New  Year.  They 
stood  in  its  darkness,  this  woman  who  was  longing  to  return 
to  the  unbridled  life  of  her  sensual  and  disordered  past, 
and  this  man  who,  quite  without  vanity,  believed  that  he 
had  been  permitted  to  redeem  her  from  it. 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  S19 

The  guardian  of  the  temple,  who  had  followed  them 
softly,  now  lit  a  ribbon  of  magnesium,  and  there  sprang  into 
a  vague  and  momentary  life  reliefs  of  the  King  performing 
ceremonies  and  accomplishing  sacrifices.  Then  the  darkness 
closed  again.  And  the  fragmentary  and  short  vision  seemed 
to  Mrs.  Armine  like  the  vision  of  her  little  life  as  a  beauti- 
ful woman,  and  the  coming  of  the  darkness  to  blot  it  out 
like  the  coming  of  the  darkness  of  death  to  cover  her  for 
ever  with  its  impenetrable  mantle. 

What  she  had  told  Meyer  Isaacson  in  his  consulting- 
room  was  true.  When  she  thought  sincerely,  she  believed 
in  no  future  life.  She  could  not  conceive  of  a  spirit  life. 
Nor  could  she  conceive  of  the  skeletons  of  the  dead  in  some 
strange  resurrection  being  reclothed  with  the  flesh  which 
she  adored,  being  inhabited  again  by  the  vitality  which 
makes  skeleton  and  flesh  living  man  or  woman.  This  life 
was  all  to  her.  And  when  the  light  in  which  it  existed  and 
was  perceived  died  away  and  was  consumed,  she  believed 
that  the  vision  could  never  reappear. 

Now,  in  this  once  so  sacred  place,  she  seemed  for  a 
moment  to  plunge  into  the  depths  of  herself,  to  penetrate 
into  the  inmost  recesses  of  her  nature.  In  London,  be- 
fore Nigel  came  into  her  life,  had  she  not  been  like  Hathor 
in  her  temple,  hearing  the  sound  of  the  departing  feet  of 
those  who  had  been  her  worshippers?  And  with  Nigel 
had  come  a  wild  hope  of  worldly  eminence,  of  great  riches, 
of  a  triumph  over  enemies.  And  that  hope  had  faded  ab- 
ruptly. Yet  through  her  association  with  Nigel  she  had 
come  to  another  hope.  And  this  hope  must  be  fulfilled, 
before  the  inevitable  darkness  that  would  fall  about  her 
beauty.  Nigel  would  never  be  the  means  to  the  end  she 
had  originally  had  in  view.  Yet  his  destiny  was  to  serve 
her.  He  had  his  destiny,  and  she  hers.  And  hers  was  not 
a  great  worldly  position,  or  any  ultimate  respectability. 
She  could  not  have  the  first,  and  so  she  would  not  have  the 
second.  Perhaps  she  was  bom  for  other  things — born  to  be 
a  votary  of  Venus,  but  not  to  content  any  man  as  his  lawful 
wife.     The  very  word  ** lawful*'  sent  a  ehiU  through  her 


320  BELLA  DONNA 

blood  now.  She  was  meant  for  lawlessness,  it  seemed. 
Then  she  would  fulfil  her  destiny,  without  pity,  without  fear, 
but  not  without  discretion.  And  her  destiny  was  to  emerge 
from  the  trap  in  which  she  was  confined.     So  she  believed. 

Yet  would  she  emerge?  In  the  darkness  of  Hathor's 
sanctuary,  haunted  by  the  face  of  the  goddess  and  by  the 
sad  thoughts  of  deserted  womanhood  which  it  suggested 
to  her  self-centred  mind,  she  resolved  that  she  would 
emerge,  that  nothing  should  stop  her,  that  she  would  crush 
down  any  weakening  sentiments  and  thoughts  if  they  came 
to  heart  or  mind.  Egypt,  in  which  one  desire  had  been 
rendered  useless  and  finally  killed  in  her,  had  given  to  her 
another,  had  brought  to  her  a  last  chance — she  seemed  to 
know  it  was  that — of  happiness,  of  ugly  yet  intense  joy. 
In  Egypt  she  had  blossomed,  fading  woman  though  she 
had  been.  She  had  renewed  her  powers  of  physical  fas- 
cination. Then  she  must  emerge  from  the  trap  and  go  to 
fulfil  her  destiny.  She  would  do  so.  Silently,  and  as  if 
making  the  vow  to  the  Egyptian  Aphrodite  in  the  darkness 
of  her  temple,  she  swore  to  do  so.  Nigel  had  brought  her 
there — had  he  not? — ^that  Hathor  might  bless  her  voyage. 
Moved  by  a  fierce  impulse,  and  casting  away  pity,  doubt, 
fear,  everything  but  flamelike  desire,  she  called  upon  Hathor 
to  bless  her  voyage — not  their  voyage,  but  only  hers.  She 
called  upon  the  goddess  of  beauty,  the  pagan  goddess  of 
the  love  that  was  not  spiritual. 

And  she  almost  felt  as  if  she  was  answered. 

Yet  only  the  enormous  bats  cried  fiercely  to  her  from 
far  up  in  the  dimness.  She  only  heard  their  voices  and  the 
beating  of  their  wings. 

** Let's  go.  Ruby.  I  don't  loiow  why,  but  to-day  I  hate 
this  place.'' 

She  started  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  close  to  her.  But 
she  controlled  herself  immediat-ely,  and  replied,  quietly: 

"Yes,  let  us  go.     We  are  only  disturbing  the  bats." 

As  they  went  out,  she  looked  up  to  the  column  from 
which  Hathor  gazed  as  if  seeking  for  her  worshippers,  and 
she  whispered  adieu  to  the  goddess. 

As  soon  as  they  were  on  board  of  the  Loulia  Nigel  gave 


BELLA  DONNA  S21 

the  order  to  cast  off.  He  seemed  unusually  restless,  and  in 
a  hurry  to  be  en  route.  With  eagerness  he  spoke  to  the  im- 
passive Reis,  whose  handsome  head  was  swathed  in  a  shawl, 
and  who  listened  imperturbably.  He  went  about  on  the 
sailors'  deck  watching  the  preparations,  seeing  the  ropes 
hauled  in,  the  huge  poles  brought  out  to  fend  them  from 
off  the  bank,  the  gigantic  sail  unfurled  to  catch  the 
evening  breeze,  which  was  blowing  from  the  north,  and 
which  would  take  them  up  against  the  strong  set  of  the 
current.  And  when  the  water  curled  and  eddied  about 
the  LouUa's  prow,  and  the  shores  seemed  slipping  away 
and  falling  back  into  the  primrose  light  of  the  north,  and 
into  the  great  dahabeeyah  there  came  that  mysterious  feel- 
ing of  life  which  thrills  through  the  moving  vessel,  he  flung 
up  his  arms,  and  uttered  an  exclamation  that  was  like  a 
mingled  sigh  and  half-suppressed  shout.  Then  he  laughed 
at  himself,  and  turned  to  look  for  Ruby. 

She  was  alone  on  the  upper  deck,  standing  among  some 
big  palms  in  pots,  with  her  hands  on  the  rail,  and  gazing 
towards  him.  She  had  taken  otf  her  hat  and  veil,  and  the 
breeze  stirred,  and  the  gold  of  the  departing  sun  lit  up  the 
strands  of  her  curiously  pale  yet  shining  hair.  He  sprang 
up  the  companion  to  stand  beside  her. 

*'We'reoff!"hesaid. 

**How  glad  you  seem!  You  called  me  a  child.  But 
you're  like  a  mad  boy — mad  to  be  moving.  One  would 
think  you  had No,  that  wouldn't  be  like  a  boy." 

*' What  do  you  mean  ? " 

**I  was  going  to  say  one  would  think  you  had  an  enemy 
m  Keneh  and  were  escaping  from  him." 

*  *  Him !     Her,  vou  should  say. ' ' 

''Her?" 

*'Hathor.  That  temple  of  Denderah  seemed  haunted 
to-day." 

He  pulled  off  his  hat  to  let  the  breeze  get  at  his  hair, 
too. 

**When  we  were  standing  in  the  sanctuary  I  seemed  to 

I  be  smelling  death  and  corruption.     Ugh ! ' ' 


S22  BELLA  DONNA 

His  face  changed  at  the  memor>^ 

*'And  the  cries  of  those  bats!  They  sounded  like 
menacing  spirits.  I  was  a  fool  to  go  to  such  a  place  to  ask 
a  blessing  on  our  voyage.  My  attempt  at  paganism  was 
punished,  and  no  wonder,  Ruby.  For  I  don't  think  I'm 
really  a  bit  of  a  pagan;  I  don't  think  I  see  much  joy  in 
the  pagan  life,  that  is  so  much  cracked  up  by  some  people. 
I  don't  see  how  the  short  life  and  the  merry  one  can  ever 
be  really  merry  at  all.  How  can  a  man  be  merry  with  a 
darkness  always  in  front  of  him  ? ' ' 

''What  darkness?" 

*  *  Death — without  immortality.  * ' 

She  said  nothing  for  a  moment.     Then  she  asked  him : 

' '  Do  you  look  upon  death  merely  as  a  door  into  another 
life?" 

"I  believe  it  is.    Don't  you?" 

*'Yes.     Then  you  don't  dread  death?" 

"Don't  I — now?  It  would  be  leaving  so  much  now. 
And  besides,  I  love  this  life;  I  revel  in  it.  Who  wouldn't, 
with  health  like  mine ?     Feel  that  arm ! '* 

She  did  not  move.  He  took  her  hand  and  pressed  her 
fingers  against  his  muscles. 

' '  It 's  like  iron, ' '  she  said,  taking  away  her  hand.  *  *  But 
muscle  and  health  are  not  exactly  the  same  thing,  are 
they?" 

'*No;  of  course  not.  But  did  you  ever  see  a  man  look 
more  perfectly  well  than  I  do?" 

As  he  stood  beside  her,  radiant  now,  upright,  with  the 
breeze  ruffling  his  short,  fair  hair,  his  enthusiastic  blue 
eyes  shining  with  happiness,  he  did  look  like  a  young  god 
of  health  and  years  j^ounger  than  his  age. 

"Oh,  you  look  all  right,"  she  said;  "just  like  lots  of 
other  men  who  go  in  for  sport  and  keep  themselves  fit." 

He  laughed. 

"You  won't  pay  me  the  compliment  I  want.  Look  at 
those  barges  loaded  with  pottery!  All  those  thousands  of 
little  vases — koulal,  as  the  natives  call  them — are  made  in 
Keneh.    I  've  seen  the  men  doing  it — ^boys  too — the  wet  clay 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  323 

spinning  round  the  brown  finger  that  makes  the  orifice. 
How  good  it  is  to  see  the  life  of  the  river !  There 's  always 
something  new,  always  something  interesting,  humanity  at 
work  in  the  sunshine  and  the  open  air.  Who  wouldn't 
be  a  fellah  rather  than  a  toiler  in  any  English  town? 
Here  are  the  shadufs!  All  the  way  up  the  Nile  we  shall 
see  them,  and  we  shall  hear  the  old  shaduf  songs,  that 
sound  as  if  they  came  down  from  the  days  when  they  cut 
the  Sphinx  out  of  the  living  rock,  and  we  shall  hear  the 
drowsy  song  of  the  water-w^heels,  as  the  sleepy  oxen  go  round 
and  round  in  the  sunshine ;  and  we  shall  see  the  women  com- 
ing in  lines  from  the  inland  villages  with  the  water-jars 
poised  on  their  heads.  If  only  we  were  back  in  the  days 
when  there  w^ere  no  steamers  and  the  Nile  must  have  been 
like  a  perpetual  dream!  But  never  mind.  At  least  we 
refused  Baroudi's  steam-tug.  So  we  shall  just  go  up  with 
the  wind,  or  be  poled  up  when  there  is  none,  if  we  aren't 
tied  up  under  the  bank.  That's  the  only  way  to  travel 
on  the  Nile,  but  of  course  Baroudi  uses  it,  as  one  uses  the 
railway,  to  go  to  business." 

He  stopped,  as  if  his  mind  had  taken  a  turn  towards 
some  other  line  of  thought ;  then  he  said : 

"Isn't  it  odd  that  you  and  I  should  be  established  in 
Baroudi's  boat,  when  we've  never  seen  him  again  since  the 
day  we  had  tea  on  it?     I  almost  thought " 

"What?" 

* '  I  almost  thought  perhaps  he  'd  run  up  by  train  to  give 
us  a  sort  of  send-off." 

"Why  should  he?" 

"Of  course  it  wasn't  necessary.  Still,  it  would  have 
been  an  act  of  pretty  politeness  to  you." 

* '  Oh,  I  think  the  less  pretty  politeness  European  women 
have  from  these  Orientals  the  better!"  she  said,  almost 
with  a  sneer. 

"You're  thinking  of  that  horrible  German  woman  in 
the  Fayyum.  But  Baroudi's  very  well  looked  on  by  the 
English  in  Egypt.  I  found  that  out  in  Cairo,  when  I  left 
you  to  go  to  the  Fayyum.    He's  quite  a  persona  grata  for 


524  BELLA  DONNA 

an  Egyptian.  Everybody  seems  ready  to  do  him  a  good 
turn.  That's  partly  why  he's  been  so  successful  in  all  he's 
undertaken. ' ' 

*'I  dare  say  he's  not  bad  in  his  way,  but  as  long  as 
we  've  got  his  lovely  boat  I  can  do  quite  well  without  him, ' ' 
she  said,  smiling.  **  Where  are  we  going  to  tie  up  to-night, 
and  when?" 

''When  it  gets  dark.  The  Reis  knows  where.  Isn't  it 
glorious  to  be  quite  free  and  independent?  We  can  stop 
wherever  we  like,  in  the  lonely  places,  where  there  '11  be  no 
tourists  to  bother  us." 

''Yes,"  she  said,  echoing  his  enthusiasm,  while  she 
looked  at  him  with  smiling  eyes.  "Let's  avoid  the  tourists 
and  stop  in  the  lonely  places.     Well,  I  'm  going  down  now. ' ' 

' '  Why  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  The  sun  will  soon 
be  setting.  We  ought  to  see  the  first  afterglow  from  the 
Loulia  together." 

' '  Call  me,  then,  when  it  comes.  But  I  'm  going  to  take 
a  lesson  in  coffee-making  as  they  do  it  out  here.  It  will 
amuse  me  to  make  our  coffee  after  lunch.  Besides,  it  will 
be  something  to  do.  And  I  want  to  take  an  interest  in 
everything,  in  all  the  trifles  of  this  odd  new  life." 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  shoulder. 

"Splendid!"  he  said. 

His  hand  tightened  upon  her. 

"But  you  must  come  for  the  afterglow." 

"Call  me,  and  I'll  come." 

As  she  went  down  the  companion,  he  leaned  over  the 
rail  and  asked  her: 

"Who's  going  to  give  you  your  lesson  in  coffee- 
making?" 

"Hamza,"  she  answered. 

And  she  disappeared. 


BELLA  DONNA  325 


XXVI 


**  All  the  way  up  the  Nile  we  shall  hear  the  old  shaduf 
songs,"  Nigel  had  said,  when  the  Loulia  set  sail  from 
Keneh. 

As  Mrs.  Armine  went  down  to  meet  Hamza,  she  was 
aware  of  the  loud  voices  of  the  shaduf  men.  They  came 
from  both  banks  of  the  Nile — powerfully  from  the  eastern, 
faintly  from  the  western  bank  soon  to  be  drowned  in  the 
showers  of  gold  from  the  sinking  sun.  Yet  she  could  hear 
that  even  those  distant  voices  were  calling  loudly,  that  in 
their  f  aintness  there  was  violence.  And  she  thought  of  the 
fellah's  voice  that  cried  to  her  in  the  orange-garden,  and 
how  for  a  moment  she  had  thought  of  flight  before  she  had 
found  herself  in  a  prison  of  prayer.  Now  she  was  in  an- 
other prison.  But  even  then  the  inexorable  hands  had 
closed  upon  her,  and  the  final  cry  of  the  fellah  had  thrilled 
with  a  savage  triumph.  She  had  remembered  ''Aida" 
that  day.  She  remembered  it  again  now.  Then,  in  her 
youth,  she  had  believed  that  the  passion  which  had  wrecked 
her  was  the  passion  of  her  life,  a  madness  of  the  senses,  a 
delirium  of  the  body  which  could  never  be  repeated  in  later 
years  for  another  object.  How  little  she  had  known  her- 
self or  life!  How  little  she  had  known  the  cruel  forces  of 
mature  age.  That  passion  of  her  girlhood  seemed  to  her 
like  an  anaemic  shadow  of  the  wolfish  truth  that  was  alive 
in  her  now.  In  those  days  the  power  to  feel,  the  power  to 
crave,  to  shudder  with  jealousy,  to  go  almost  mad  in  the 
face  of  a  menacing  imagination,  was  not  full-grown.  Now 
it  was  full-grown,  and  it  was  a  giant.  Yet  in  those  days 
she  had  allowed  the  shadow  to  ruin  her.  In  these  she  meant 
to  be  more  wary.  But  now  she  was  tortured  by  a  nature 
that  she  feared. 

The  die  was  cast.  She  had  no  more  thought  of  escape  or 
of  resistance.  The  supreme  selfishness  of  the  materialist, 
which  is  like  no  other  selfishness,  was  fully  alive  within  her. 
Believing  not  at  all  in  any  future  for  her  soul,  she  desired 


S26  BELLA  DONNA 

present  joy  for  her  clamorous  body  as  no  one  not  a  mate- 
rialist could  ever  desire.  If  she  failed  in  having  what  she 
longed  for  now,  while  she  still  retained  the  glow  of  her 
Indian  summer,  she  believed  she  would  have  nothing  more 
at  all,  that  all  would  be  finally  over  for  her,  that  the  black 
gulf  would  gape  for  her  and  that  she  would  vanish  into  it 
for  ever.  She  was  a  desperate  woman,  beneath  her  mask 
of  smiling  calm,  when  the  Loulia  set  sail  and  glided  into  the 
path  of  the  golden  evening. 

Nevertheless,  directly  she  had  descended  the  shallow 
steps,  and  come  into  the  luxurious  cabin  that  was  to  be  her 
boudoir,  she  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  relief  that  was 
almost  joy.  The  comfort,  the  perfect  arrangements  of  the 
Loulia  gave  her  courage.  She  was  able  to  look  forward. 
The  soul  of  her  purred  with  a  sensual  satisfaction.  She 
w^ent  on  down  the  passage  to  the  room  of  the  fountain  and 
of  the  gilded  ball.  But  to-day  the  fountain  was  not  play- 
ing, and  the  little  ball  floated  upon  the  water  in  the  marble 
basin  like  a  thing  that  had  lost  its  life.  She  felt  a  slight 
shock  of  disappointment.  Then  she  remembered  that  they 
were  moving.  Probably  the  fountain  only  played  when  the 
dahabeeyah  was  at  rest.  The  grotesque  monster,  like  a 
dragon  with  a  dog's  head,  which  she  had  seen  on  her  first 
visit,  looked  down  on  her  from  its  bracket.  And  she  felt 
as  if  it  welcomed  her.  The  mashrebeeyeh  lattices  were 
closed  over  the  Avindows,  but  the  sliding  doors  that  gave  on 
to  the  balcony  were  pushed  back,  and  let  in  the  light  of 
evening,  and  a  sound  of  water,  and  of  voices  along  the  Nile. 
She  sat  dowTi  on  the  divan,  and  almost  immediately  Hamza 
came  in. 

*'You  are  going  to  show  me  how  to  make  Turkish  coffee, 
Hamza?''  she  said,  in  her  lazy  and  careless  voice. 

'*Yes,"  he  replied. 

'^Vhere  shall  we  do  it?" 

He  pointed  towards  the  raised  balcony  in  the  stem. 

*'Out  there!"  she  said. 

She  seemed  disfipr>ointed,  but  she  got  up  slowly  and 
followed  him  out.     The  awning  was  spread  so  that  the 


BELLA  DONNA  327 

upper  deck  was  not  visible.  When  she  saw  that,  the  cloud 
passed  away  from  her  face,  and  as  she  sat  down  to  receive 
her  lesson,  there  was  a  bright  and  hard  eagerness  and 
attention  in  her  eyes  and  about  her  lips. 

Hamza  had  already  brought  a  brazier  with  iron  legs, 
which  was  protected  from  the  wind  by  a  screen  of  canvas. 
On  the  polished  wood  close  to  it  there  were  a  shining  sauce- 
pan containing  water,  a  brass  bowl  of  freshly  roasted  and 
pounded  coffee,  two  small  open  coffee-pots  with  handles 
that  stuck  straight  out,  two  coffee-cups,  a  tiny  bowl  of 
powdered  sugar,  and  some  paper  parcels  which  held  sticks 
of  mastic,  ambergris,  and  seed  of  cardamom.  As  soon  as 
Mrs.  Armine  was  seated  by  the  brazier  Hamza,  whose  face 
looked  as  if  he  were  quite  alone,  with  slow  and  almost 
dainty  delicacy  and  precision  proceeded  with  his  task. 
Squatting  down  upon  his  haunches,  with  his  thin  brown  legs 
well  under  his  reed-like  body,  he  poured  the  water  from 
the  saucepan  into  one  of  the  copper  pots,  set  the  pot  on 
the  brazier,  and  seemed  to  sink  into  a  reverie,  with  his 
enigmatic  eyes,  that  took  all  and  gave  nothing,  fixed  on  the 
burning  coals.  Mrs.  Armine  was  motionless,  watching  him, 
but  he  never  looked  at  her.  There  was  something  animal 
in  his  abstraction.  Presently  there  came  from  the  pot  a 
murmur.  Instantly  Hamza  stretched  out  his  hand,  took  the 
pot  from  the  brazier  and  the  bowl  of  coffee  from  the  ground, 
let  some  of  the  coffee  slip  into  the  water,  stirred  it  with  a 
silver  spoon  which  he  produced  from  a  carefully  folded 
square  of  linen,  and  set  the  pot  once  more  on  the  brazier. 
Then  he  unfolded  the  paper  which  held  the  ambergris,  put 
a  carat  weight  of  it  into  the  second  pot  and  set  that,  too, 
on  the  brazier.  The  coffee  began  to  simmer.  He  lit  a  stick 
of  mastic,  fumigated  with  its  smoke  the  two  little  coffee- 
cups,  took  the  coffee-pot,  and  gently  poured  the  fragrant 
coffee  into  the  pot  containing  the  melted  ambergris,  let  it 
simmer  for  a  moment  there,  poured  it  out  into  the  coffee- 
cups,  creaming  and  now  sending  forth  with  its  own  warm 
perfume  the  enticing  perfume  of  ambergris,  added  a  dash 
of  the  cardamom  seed,  and  then,  at  last,  looked  towards 
Mrs.  Armine. 


328  BELLA  DONNA 

^'  It's  ready  ?  Then — then  shall  I  put  the  sugar  in  ?  ^ 
she  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Hamza,  looking  steadily  at  her. 

She  stretched  out  her  hand,  but  not  to  the  sugar  bowL 
Just  as  she  did  so  a  voice  from  over  their  heads  called  out: 

"Euby!     Euby!'' 

"  Come  down  here !  '^  she  called,  in  answer. 

"But  I  want  you  to  come  up  and  see  the  sunset  and  the 
afterglow  with  me." 

"  Come  down  here  first,"  she  called. 

"Right!" 

The  coffee-making  was  finished.  Hamza  got  up  from 
his  haunches,  lifted  up  the  brazier,  and  went  softly 
away,  carrying  it  with  a  nonchalant  ease  almost 
as  if  it  were  a  cardboard  counterfeit  weighing  noth> 
ing. 

In  a  moment  Nigel  came  into  the  dim  room  of  the 
fountain. 

''Where  are  you?  Oh,  there!  We  mustn't  miss  our 
first  sunset/' 

** Coffee!"  she  said,  smiling. 

He  came  out  on  to  the  balcony,  and  she  gave  him  one  of 
the  little  cups. 

**Did  you  make  it  yourself?" 

*'No.  But  I  will  to-morrow.  Hamza  has  been  showing 
me  how  to." 

He  took  the  cup. 

**It  smells  delicious,  as  enticing  as  perfumes  from  Para- 
dise.    I  think  you  must  have  made  it. ' ' 

'* Drink  it,  and  believe  so — you  absurd  person!"  she 
said,  gently. 

He  sipped,  and  she  did  likewise. 

''It's  perfect,  simply  perfect.  But  what  has  been  put 
into  it  to  give  it  this  peculiar,  delicious  flavour,  Ruby?" 

"Ah,  that's  my  secret." 

She  sipped  from  her  little  cup. 

"It  is  extraordinarily  good,"  she  said. 

She  pointed  to  the  small  paper  packets,  which  Hamza 
had  not  yet  carried  off. 


BELLA  DONNA  329 

*'The  preparation  is  almost  like  some  sacred  rite,**  she 
eaid.  **We  put  in  a  little  something  from  this  packet,  and 
a  little  something  from  that.  And  we  smoke  the  cups  with 
one  of  those  burning  sticks  of  mastic.  And  then,  at  the 
very  end,  when  the  coffee  is  frothing  and  creaming,  we  dust 
it  with  sugar.     This  is  the  result.'' 

** Simply  perfect.'' 

He  put  his  cup  down  empty. 

'*Look  at  that  light!"  he  said,  pointing  over  the  rail 
to  the  3'ellow  water  which  they  were  leaving  behind  them. 
'^  Have  you  finished  ?  " 

''Quite." 

**Then  let's  go  on  deck — coffee-maker.*' 

They  were  quite  alone.  He  put  his  arm  around  her 
as  she  stood  up. 

**  Everything  you  give  me  seems  to  me  different  from 
other  things,"  he  said — ** different,  and  so  much  better." 

**Your  miagination  is  kind  to  me — ^too  kind.  You  are 
foolish  about  me." 

'*AmI?" 

He  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  his  kind  and  enthusiastic 
eyes  became  almost  piercing  for  an  instant. 

"And  you,  Ruby?" 

*'I?" 

** Could  you  ever  be  foolish  about  me?" 

For  a  moment  his  joy  seemed  to  be  clouded  by  a  faint 
and  creeping  doubt,  as  if  he  were  mentally  comparing  her 
condition  of  heart  with  his,  and  as  if  the  comparison  were 
beginning — only  just  beginning — dimly  to  distress  him. 
She  knew  just  how  he  was  feeling,  and  she  leaned  against 
him,  making  her  body  feel  weak. 

**I  don't  want  to,"  she  said. 

''Why  not?" 

Already  the  cloud  was  evaporating. 

* '  I  don 't  want  to  suffer.  I  want  to  be  happy  now  in  the 
short  time  I  have  left  for  happiness." 

"Why  do  you  say  'the  short  time'?" 

"I'm  not  young  any  more.  And  I've  suffered  enough 
in  my  life." 


330  BELLA  DONNA 

**But  through  me!  How  could  you  suffer?  Don't  yon 
trust  me  completely  even  yet  ? '  * 

**It  isn't  that.  But — it's  dangerous  for  a  woman  to  be 
foolish  about  any  man.     It's  a  folly  to  care  too  much.'* 

She  spoke  with  a  sincerity  there  was  no  mistaking,  for 
she  was  thinking  about  Baroudi. 

*'Only  sometimes.  Only  when  one  cares  for  the  weak, 
or  the  insincere.  We — needn't  count  the  cost,  and 
hesitate. ' ' 

She  let  him  close  her  lips,  which  were  opening  for  a 
reply,  and  while  he  kissed  her  she  listened  to  the  voices  of 
the  shaduf  men  ever  calling  on  the  banks  of  the  river. 

When  they  were  on  the  upper  deck  those  voices  seemed 
to  her  louder.  That  evening  it  was  a  sunset  of  sheer  gold. 
The  cloudless  sky — so  it  seemed — would  brook  no  other 
colour;  the  hills  would  receive  no  gift  that  was  not  a  gift 
of  gold.  A  pageant  of  gold  that  was  almost  barbaric  was 
offered  to  Mrs.  Armine.  Out  of  the  gold  the  voices  cried 
from  banks  that  were  turning  black.  Always,  in  Egypt, 
the  gold  turns  the  barques  on  the  Nile,  its  banks,  the  palm- 
trees  that  sometimes  crowTi  them,  the  houses  of  the  native 
villages,  black.  And  so  it  was  that  evening,  but  Nigel 
only  saw  and  thought  of  the  gold. 

**At  last  we  are  sailing  into  the  gold,*'  he  said.  **This 
makes  me  think  of  a  picture  that  I  love." 

** What  picture?'' 

*'A  picture  by  Watts,  called  'Progress.'  In  it  there 
IS  a  wonderful  glow.  I  remember  l  spoke  of  it  to  ^Meyer 
Isaacson  on  the  evening  when  I  introduced  him  to  you. ' ' 

She  had  been  leaning  over  the  rail  on  the  starboard 
side  of  the  boat  Now  she  lifted  her  arms,  stood  straight 
up,  then  sat  down  in  a  beehive  chair,  and  leaned  back  against 
the  basket-work,  which  creaked  as  if  protesting. 

"To  Meyer  Isaacson!"  she  said.  **What  did  you  say 
about  it?" 

He  turned,  set  his  back  against  the  rail,  and  looked  at 
her  in  her  hooded  shelter. 

"We  spoke  of  progress.     The  picture's  an  allegory,  of 


h 


BELLA  DONNA  331 

course,  an  allegory  of  the  spiritual  progress  of  the  world, 
and  of  each  one  of  us.  I  remember  telling  Isaajsson  how 
firmly  I  believed  in  the  triumph  of  good  in  the  world  and 
the  individuaL" 

**And  what  did  he  say?" 

''Isaacson ?     I  don't  know  that  he  quite  took  my  view.'* 

**He's  a  tiny  bit  of  a  suspicious  man,  I  think.'' 

**  Perhaps  he  wants  more  solid  proof — proof  you  could 
point  to  and  say,  *Look  there!  I  rely  on  that!'  than  I 
should.'' 

*'He's  ever  so  much  more  terre  a  terre  than  you  are." 

**0h,  Kuby,  I  don't  know  that!" 

**Yes,  he  is.  He's  a  delightfully  clever  and  a  very  in- 
teresting man,  but,  though  he  mayn't  think  it  he's  terre  d 
terre.  He  sees  with  extraordinary  clearness,  but  only  a 
very  little  way,  and  he  would  never  believe  anjrthing  impor- 
tant existed  beyond  the  range  of  his  vision.  You  are  not 
like  that!" 

**He's  a  thousand  times  cleverer  than  I  am." 

*'Yes,  he's  so  clever  that  he's  distrustful.  Now,  for  in 
stance,  he'd  never  believe  in  a  woman  like  me." 

*'0h "  he  began,  in  a  tone  of  energetic  protest. 

*'No,  he  wouldn't,"  she  interrupted,  quietly.  **To  the 
end  of  time  he  would  judge  me  by  the  past.  He  would  label 
me  *  woman  to  beware  of  and  my  most  innocent  actions, 
my  most  impulsive  attempts  to  show  forth  my  true  and 
better  self  he  would  entirely  misinterpret,  brilliant  man 
though  he  is.    Nigel,  believe  me,  we  women  know !" 

"But,  then,  surely  you  must  dislike  Isaacson  very 
much!" 

'*0n  the  contrary,  I  like  him." 

**I  can't  understand  that." 

**I  don't  require  of  him  any  of  the  splendid  things  that 
— ^well,  that  I  do  require  of  you,  because  I  could  never  care 
for  him.  If  he  were  to  play  me  false,  even  if  he  were  to 
hate  me  a  thousand  times  more  than  he  does,  it  wouldn't 
npset  me,  because  I  could  never  care  for  him. " 

You  think  Isaacson  hates  you !"  he  exclaimed. 


332  BELLA  DONNA 

He  had  forgotten  the  gold  of  the  sunset,  the  liquid  gold 
of  the  river.  He  saw  only  her,  thought  only  of  what  she 
was  saying,  thinking. 

** Nigel,  tell  me  the  truth.    Do  you  think  he  likes  me?'* 

He  looked  down. 

"  He  doesn 't  know  you.     If  he  did *' 

**If  he  did,  it  would  make  not  a  bit  of  difference." 

**I  think  it  would;  all  the  difference.'* 

She  smilingly  shook  her  head. 

''I  should  always  wear  my  label,  *  woman  to  beware  of.* 
But  what  does  it  matter?  I'm  not  married  to  him.  If  I 
were,  ah,  then  I  should  be  the  most  miserable  woman 
on  earth — now!" 

He  sat  down  close  to  her  in  another  beehive  chair. 

**Ruby,  why  did  you  say  *now'  like  that?" 

*'0h,"  she  spoke  in  a  tone  of  lightness  that  sounded 
assumed,  '*  because  now  IVe  lived  in  an  atmosphere  not  of 
mistrust.     And  it's  spoilt  me  completely." 

He  felt  within  him  a  glow  strong  and  golden  as  the  glow 
of  the  sunset.  At  last  she  had  forgotten  their  painful  scene 
in  the  garden.  He  had  fought  for  and  had  won  her  soul's 
forgetfulness. 

**I'm  glad,"  he  said,  with  the  Englishman's  almost  blunt 
simplicit}^ — ''I'm  glad.    I  wish  Isaacson  knew." 

She  felt  as  if  she  frowned,  but  not  a  wrinkle  came  on 
her  forehead. 

"I  didn't  tell  you,"  he  added,  *'but  I  wrote  to  Isaacson 
the  other  day." 

^'Didyou?" 

Her  hands  met  in  her  lap,  and  her  fingers  clasped. 

"Yes,  I  sent  him  quite  a  good  letter.  I  told  him  we 
were  going  up  the  Nile  in  Baroudi  's  boat,  and  how  splendid 
you  were  looking,  and  how  immensely  happy  we  were.  I 
told  him  we  were  going  to  cut  all  the  travellers,  and  just 
live  for  our  two  selves  in  the  quiet  places  where  there  are 
no  steamers  and  no  other  dahabeeyahs.  And  I  told  hiro 
how  magnificently  well  I  was. ' ' 

*'0h,  treating  him  as  the  great  Doctor,  I  suppose!" 


BELLA  DONNA  3S3 

She  unclasped  her  hands,  and  took  hold  of  the  rudimen- 
tary arms  of  her  chair. 

**No.  But  I  felt  expansive — riotously  well — ^when  I  was 
writing,  and  I  just  stuck  it  down  with  all  the  rest." 

''And  the  rest?" 

She  leaned  forward  a  little,  as  if  she  wanted  to  see  the 
sunset  better,  but  soon  she  looked  at  him. 

''Oh,  I  let  him  understand  just  how  it  is  between  you 
and  me.  And  I  told  him  about  the  dahabeeyah,  what  a 
marvel  it  is,  and  about  Baroudi,  and  how  Ibrahim  put 
Baroudi  up  to  the  idea  of  letting  it  to  us." 

*'I  see." 

' '  How  these  chairs  creak ! "  he  said.  "Yours  is  making 
a  regular  row." 

She  got  up. 

"You  aren't  going  down  again!*' 

"No.    Let  us  walk  about." 

"AU  right." 

He  joined  her  and  they  began  slowly  to  pace  up  and 
down,  while  the  gold  grew  fainter  in  the  sky,  fainter  upon 
the  river.  She  kept  silence,  and  perhaps  communicated 
her  wish  for  silence  to  him,  for  he  did  not  speak  until  the 
sunset  had  faded  away,  and  the  world  of  water,  green  flats, 
desert,  and  arid  hills  grew  pale  in  the  pause  before  the 
afterglow.     Then  at  last  he  said: 

"What  is  it.  Ruby?  What  are  you  thinking  about  so 
seriously?" 

"I  don't  know." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  seemed  to  take  a  resolve. 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"Have  I  said  something  that  has  vexed  you?  Are  you 
vexed  at  my  writing  to  Isaacson  to  tell  him  about  our 
happiness?" 

"Not  vexed,  no.  But  somehow  it  seems  to  take  off  the 
edge  of  it  a  little.  But  men  don't  understand  such  things, 
so  it's  no  use  talking  of  it." 

"But  I  want  to  understand  everything.  You  see,  Isaac- 
son is  my  friend.  Isn't  it  natural  that  I  should  let  him 
know  of  my  happiness?" 


334  BELLA  DONNA 

*'0h,  yes,  I  suppose  so.  Never  mind.  What  does  it 
matter?" 

' '  You  dislike  my  having  written  to  him  ? ' ' 

"I'm  a  fool,  Nigel — that's  the  truth.  I'm  afraid  of 
everything  and  everybody." 

*' Afraid!     You're  surely  not  afraid  of  Isaacson?'* 

^'1  tell  you  I'm  afraid  of  everybody." 

She  stopped  by  the  rail,  and  looked  towards  the  west. 

**To  me  happiness  seems  such  a  brittle  thing  that  any 
one  might  break  it.  And  men — forgive  me! — ^men  gener- 
ally have  such  clumsy  hands." 

He  leaned  on  the  rail  beside  her,  turning  himself 
towards  her. 

**You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  think  Isaacson  could 
ever  break  our  happiness,  even  if  he  wished  to?" 

'^Whynot?" 

"Don't  you  understand  me  at  all?" 

There  was  in  his  voice  a  tremor  of  deep  feeling. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  went  on,  "that  a  man  who  is  worth 
anything  at  all  would  allow  even  his  dearest  friend  to  come 
between  him  and  the  woman  whom  he  loved  and  who  was 
his?  Do  you  think  that  I  would  allow  any  one,  woman  or 
man,  to  come  between  me  and  you?" 

"Are  you  sure  you  wouldn't?" 

* '  What  a  tragedy  it  must  be  to  be  so  distrustful  of  love 
as  you  are ! "  he  said,  almost  with  violence. 

"You  haven't  lived  my  life." 

She,  too,  spoke  almost  with  violence,  and  there  was 
violence  in  her  eyes. 

"You  haven't  lived  for  years  in  the  midst  of  condem- 
nation. Your  friend.  Doctor  Isaacson,  secretly  condemns 
me.  I  know  it.  And  so  I'm  afraid  of  him.  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  have  any  real  reason — any  reason  that  would  com- 
mend itself  to  a  man.  Women  don't  need  such  reasons  for 
their  fears." 

"And  yet  you  say  that  you  like  Isaacson !" 

''So  I  do,  in  a  way.  At  least,  I  thought  I  did,  till  you 
told  me  you'd  written  to  him  to  tell  him  about  us  and  our 
life  on  the  Nile." 


L 


BELLA  DONNA  SS5 

He  could  not  help  smiling. 

''Oh!"  he  said,  moving  nearer  to  her.  **I  shall  never 
understand  women.  What  a  reason  for  dislike  of  a  man 
hundreds  of  miles  away  from  us!'^ 

' '  Hundreds  of  miles — ^yes !  And  if  your  letter  brought 
him  to  us!  Suppose  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  run  out 
and  see  for  himself  if  what  you  wrote  was  true  ? ' ' 

**Ruby!     How  wild  you  are  in  your  suppositions!'' 

**  They 're  not  so  wild  as  you  think.  Doctor  Isaacson 
is  just  the  man  to  do  such  a  thing. ' ' 

''Well,  even  if  he  did ?" 

''Do  you  want  him  to?"  she  interrupted. 

He  hesitated. 

"You  do  want  him  to." 

She  said  it  bitterly. 

' '  And  I  thought  I  was  enough ! ' '  she  exclaimed. 

' '  It  isn  't  that,  Ruby — it  isn  't  that  at  all.  But  I  confess 
that  I  should  like  Isaacson  to  see  for  himself  how  happy 
we  are  together. ' ' 

' '  Did  you  say  that  in  your  letter  ? ' ' 

"No,  not  a  word  of  it.  But  I  did  think  it  when  I  was 
writing.  Wasn't  it  a  natural  thought?  Isaacson  was 
almost  my  confidant — ^not  quite,  for  nobody  was  quite — 
about  my  feelings  and  intentions  towards  you  before  our 
marriage. ' ' 

"And  if  he  could  have  prevented  the  marriage,  he  would 
have  prevented  it." 

"And  because  of  that,  if  it's  true,  you  wouldn't  like  him 
to  see  us  happy  together?" 

'  *  I  don 't  want  him  here.  I  don 't  want  any  one.  I  feel 
as  if  he  might  try  to  separate  us,  even  now. ' ' 

"He  might  try  till  the  Day  of  Judgment  without  suc- 
ceeding.    But  you  are  not  quite  fair  to  him." 

"And  he  would  never  be  fair  to  me.  There's  the  after- 
glow coming  at  last. ' ' 

They  watched  it  in  silence  giving  magic  to  the  western 
hills  and  to  the  cloudless  sky  in  the  west.  It  was  suggestive 
of  peace  and  of  remoteness,  suggestive  of  things  clarified, 


3^6  BELLA  DONNA 

purged,  made  very  wonderfully  pure,  but  not  coldly  pure. 
When  it  died  away  into  the  breast  of  the  softly  advancing 
night,  Nigel  felt  as  if  it  had  purged  him  of  all  confusion 
of  thought  and  feeling,  as  if  it  had  set  him  quite  straight 
with  himself. 

**That  makes  me  feel  as  if  I  understood  everything  just 
for  a  moment,"  he  said.  **Ruby,  don't  let  us  get  into  any 
difficulties,  make  any  difficulties  for  ourselves  out  here. 
We  are  having  such  a  chance  for  peace,  aren't  we?  We 
should  be  worse  than  mad  if  we  didn't  take  it,  I  think. 
But  we  will  take  it.  I  understand  that  your  life  has  made 
you  suspicious  of  people.  I  believe  I  understand  your  fears 
a  little,  too.  But  they  are  groundless  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned. Nobody  on  earth  could  ever  come  between  you  and 
me.     Only  one  person  could  ever  break  our  union." 

**Who?" 

** Yourself.  Hark!  the  sailors  are  singing.  I  expect 
we  are  going  to  tie  up. '  * 

That  night,  as  Mrs.  Armine  lay  awake  in  the  cabin  which 
was  Baroudi's,  and  which,  in  contrast  to  all  the  other  bed- 
rooms on  the  Loulia,  was  sombre  in  its  colouring  and  dis- 
tinctively Oriental,  she  thought  of  the  conversation  of  the 
afternoon,  and  realized  that  she  must  keep  a  tighter  hold 
over  her  nerves,  put  a  stronger  guard  upon  her  temper. 
Without  really  intending  to,  she  had  let  herself  run  loose, 
she  had  lost  part  of  her  self-control.  Not  all,  for  as  usual 
when  she  told  some  truth,  she  had  made  it  serve  her  very 
much  as  a  lie  might  have  served  her.  But  by  speaking  as 
she  had  about  Meyer  Isaacson  she  had  made  herself  fully 
realize  something — ^that  she  was  afraid  of  him,  or  that  in 
the  future  she  might  become  afraid  of  him.  Why  had 
Nigel  written  just  now?  Why  had  he  draiwu  Isaacson's 
attention  to  them  and  their  lives  just  now?  It  was  almost 
as  if — and  then  she  pulled  herself  up  sharply.  She  was 
not  going  to  be  a  superstitious  fool.  It  was,  of  course,  per- 
fectly natural  for  Nigel  to  write  to  his  friend.  Neverthe- 
less, she  wished  ardently  that  Isaacson  was  not  his  friend, 
that  those  keen  doctor's  eyes,  which  seemed  to  sum  up  the 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  33^ 

bodily  and  mental  states  of  woman  or  man  with  one  bright 
and  steady  glance,  had  never  looked  upon  her. 

And  most  of  all  she  wished  that  they  might  never  look 
upon  her  again. 

XXVII 

In  the  house  in  Cleveland  Square,  on  a  morning  in  late 
January,  Meyer  Isaacson  read  Nigel's  letter. 

*' Villa  Androud, 

''Luxor,  Upper  Egypt,  Jan.  21st. 
**Dear  Isaacson, 

"Here  at  last  is  a  letter,  the  first  IVe  sat  down  to  write 
to  you  since  the  note  telling  you  of  my  marriage.  I  had 
your  kind  letter  in  answer,  and  showed  it  to  Ruby,  who  was 
as  pleased  with  it  as  I  was.  She  liked  you  from  the  first, 
and  I  think  has  always  wished  to  know  you  better  since  you 
went  to  cheer  her  up  in  her  London  solitude.  Some  day  I 
suppose  she  will  have  the  chance,  but  now  we  are  on  the 
eve  of  cutting  ourselves  off  from  every  one  and  giving 
ourselves  up  to  the  Nile.  You  are  surprised,  perhaps? 
You  thought  I  should  be  hard  at  it  in  the  Fayyum,  looking 
after  my  brown  fellows  ?  Well,  I  'm  as  keen  as  ever  on  the 
work  there,  and  if  you  could  have  seen  me  not  many  days 
ago,  nearly  up  to  my  knees  in  mud,  and  as  oily  and  black 
as  a  stoker,  you'd  know  it.  My  wife  was  in  the  Fayyum 
with  me,  and  has  been  roughing  it  like  a  regular  Spartan. 
She  packed  off  her  French  maid  so  as  to  be  quite  free,  and 
has  been  living  under  the  tent,  riding  camels,  feeding  any- 
how, and,  in  short,  getting  a  real  taste  of  the  nomad's  life 
in  the  wilds.  She  cottoned  to  it  like  anything,  although  no 
doubt  she  missed  her  comforts  now  and  then.  But  she 
never  complained,  she's  looking  simply  splendid — years 
younger  than  she  did  when  you  saw  her  in  London — and 
won't  hear  of  having  another  maid,  though  now  she  might 
quite  well  get  one.  For  I  felt  I  oughtn't  to  keep  her  too 
long  in  the  wilds  just  at  first,  although  she  was  quite  willing 
22 


338  BELLA  DONNA 

to  stay,  and  didn't  want  to  take  me  away  from  my  work. 
I  knew  she  was  naturally  anxious  to  see  something  of  the 
wonders  of  Egypt,  and  the  end  of  it  was  that  we  decided  to 
take  a  dahabeeyah  trip  on  the  Nile,  and  are  on  the  eve  of 
starting.  You  should  see  our  boat,  the  Loulia!  she's  a 
perfect  beauty,  and,  apart  from  a  few  absurd  details  which 
I  haven't  the  time  to  describe,  would  delight  you.  The 
bedrooms  are  Paris,  but  the  sitting-rooms  are  like  rooms  in 
an  Eastern  house.  You'll  say  Paris  and  the  East  don't  go 
together.  Granted!  But  it's  very  jolly  to  be  romantic  by 
day  and  soused  in  modern  comfort  at  night.  Now  isn't  it? 
Especially  after  the  Fayyum.  And  we've  actually  got  a 
fountain  on  board,  to  say  nothing  of  prayer  rugs  by  the 
dozen  which  beat  any  I've  seen  in  the  bazaars  of  Cairo.  For  we 
haven't  hired  from  Cook,  but  from  an  Eg}7)tian  millionaire  of 
Alexandria  called  Mahmoud  Baroiidi,  whom  we  met  coming 
out,  and  who  happened  to  want  a  tenant  for  his  boat  just  in  the 
nick  of  time.  It  isn  't  my  money  he  needs,  though  I  'm  pay- 
ing him  what  I  should  pay  Cook  for  a  first-rate  boat,  but 
he  doesn't  like  leaving  his  crew  and  servants  with  nothing 
to  do.  He  says  they  get  into  mischief.  He  was  looking  out 
for  a  rich  American — like  nearly  every  one  out  here — when 
he  happened  to  hear  from  one  of  our  fellows,  a  first-rate 
chap  called  Ibrahim,  that  we  wanted  a  good  boat,  and  so 
the  bargain  was  made.  Our  plans  are  pretty  vague.  We 
want  to  get  right  away  from  trippers,  and  just  be  together 
in  all  the  delicious  out-of-the-way  places  on  the  river;  see 
the  temples  and  tombs  quietly,  enter  into  the  life  of  the 
natives — in  fact,  steep  ourselves  to  the  lips  in  Nile  w^ater. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  we  are  both  looking  forward  to  it. 
Isaacson,  we're  happy!  Out  here  in  this  climate,  this  air, 
this  clearness — like  radiant  sincerity  it  is,  I  often  think — 
it's  difficult  not  to  be  happy;  but  I  think  we're  happier 
even  than  most  people  out  here — at  any  rate  I'm  sure  I 
am — I'll  dare  to  say  than  any  one  else  out  here.  And  I'll 
say  it  with  audacity  and  without  superstitious  fears  of  the 
future.  The  sun's  streaming  in  over  me  as  I  write;  I  hear 
the  voices  of  the  watermen  singing;  I  see  my  wife  in  the 


H  ^op 


BELLA  DONNA  339 

garden  walking  to  the  river  bank,  and  I've  got  this  trip 
before  me.  And — just  remembered  it ! — I  'm  superbly  well. 
Never  in  my  life  have  I  been  in  such  splendid  health.  They 
say  a  perfectly  healthy  man  should  be  unconscious  of  his 
body.  Well,  when  I  get  up  in  the  morning,  all  I  know  is 
that  I  say  to  myself,  'You're  in  grand  condition,  old  chap !' 
And  I  think  that  consciousness  means  more  than  any  uncon- 
sciousness. Don't  you?  I've  no  use  for  all  your  knowl- 
edge, your  skill,  out  here — no  use  at  all.  Are  there  really 
people  being  ill  in  London?  Are  your  consulting-rooms 
crowded  ?  I  can 't  believe  it,  any  more  than  I  can  believe  in 
the  darkness  of  London  days.  What  a  selfish  brute  I  am! 
You're  hating  me,  aren't  you?  But  it's  so  good  to  be 
happy.  When  I  'm  happy,  I  always  feel  that  I  'm  fulfilling 
the  law.  If  you  want  to  fulfil  the  law  better,  come  to 
Egypt.  But  you  ought  to  bring  the  woman  with  you  into 
the  sunshine.  I  can't  say  any  more;  I  needn't  say  any 
more.  Now,  you  understand  that  it's  all  right.  Do  you 
remember  our  walk  home  from  the  concert  that  night,  and 
how  I  said,  'I  want  to  get  into  the  light,  the  real  light'? 
Well,  I  'm  in  it,  and  how  I  wish  that  you  and  every  one  else 
could  be  in  it  too !  Forgive  my  egoism.  Write  to  me  at  this 
address  when  you  have  time.  Come  to  the  Nile  when  next 
you  take  a  holiday,  and,  with  many  messages  from  us  both, 
*' Believe  us 

*'Your  friends, 

"N.  A.  andR.  A. 
**I  sign  for  her.     She's  still  in  the  garden,  where  I'm 
just  going." 

A  letter  of  success.  A  letter  subtly  breathing  out  from 
every  line  the  message,  ''You  were  wrong."  A  letter  of 
triumph,  devoid  of  the  cruelty  that  triumph  often  holds. 
A  letter,  surely,  for  a  true  friend  to  rejoice  in? 

Meyer  Isaacson  held  it  for  a  long  while  in  his  hands, 
forgetful  of  the  tea  that  was  standing  at  his  elbow. 

The  day  was  dark  and  grim,  a  still,  not  very  cold,  but 
hopeless  day  of  the  dawning  year.     And  he,  was  he  not 


S40  BELLA  DONNA 

holding  sunshine?  The  strange  thing  was  that  it  did  not 
warm  him,  that  it  seemed  rather  to  add  a  shadow  to 
London's  dimness. 

Mrs.  Armine  without  a  maid!  He  scarcely  knew  why, 
but  that  very  small  event,  the  dismissal  of  a  maid,  seemed 
almost  to  bristle  up  at  him  out  of  his  friend's  letter.  He 
knew  smart  women  well,  and  he  knew  that  the  average 
smart  woman  would  rather  do  without  the  hope  of  Heaven 
than  do  without  her  maid.  Mrs.  Armine  must  have  changed 
indeed  since  she  was  Mrs.  Chepstow.  Could  she  have 
changed  so  much?  Do  people  of  mature  age  change  radi- 
cally when  an  enthusiastic  influence  is  brought  to  bear  upon 
them? 

All  day  long  Isaacson  was  pondering  that  question. 

Nigel  was  knocking  at  a  door.  Had  it  opened  to  him? 
Would  it  ever  open?  He  thought  it  would.  Probably  he 
thought  it  had. 

He  and  his  wife  were  going  away  to  be  together  **in 
all  the  delicious  out-of-the-way  places  on  the  Nile,"  and 
they  were  "happier  than  most  people" — even  than  most 
people  in  the  region  of  gold. 

And  yet  two  sons  had  been  bom  to  Lord  Harwich,  and 
Nigel  had  been  cut  out  of  the  succession! 

When  he  had  read  that  news,  Isaacson  had  wondered 
what  effect  it  would  have  in  the  menage  on  the  Nile — ^how 
the  greedy  woman  would  bear  it. 

Apparently  she  had  borne  it  well.  Nigel  did  not  even 
mention  it. 

And  the  departure  of  that  maid !  Mrs.  Armine  without 
a  maid!  Again  that  night  as  Isaacson  sat  alone  reading 
Nigel's  letter  that  apparently  unimportant  fact  seemed  to 
bristle  up  from  the  paper  and  confront  him.  What  was  the 
meaning  of  that  strange  renunciation  ?  What  had  prompted 
it?  **She  packed  off  her  French  maid  so  as  to  be  quite 
free."     Free  for  what? 

The  doctor  lit  a  cigar,  and  leaned  back  in  a  deep  arm- 
chair. And  he  began  to  study  that  cheery  letter  almost  as 
s  detective  studies  the  plan  of  a  house  in  which  a  crime  has 


BELLA  DONNA  841 

been  committed.  When  his  cigar  was  smoked  out,  he  laid 
the  letter  aside,  but  he  still  refrained  for  a  while  from  going 
to  bed.  His  mind  was  far  away  on  the  Nile.  Never  had  he 
«een  the  Nile.  Should  he  go  to  see  it,  soon,  this  year,  this 
spring?  He  remembered  a  morning's  ride,  when  the  air  of 
London  was  languorous,  had  seemed  for  a  moment  almost 
exotic.  That  air  had  made  him  wish  to  go  away,  far  away, 
to  the  land  where  he  would  be  really  at  home,  where  he 
would  be  in  '*his  own  place."  And  then  he  had  imagined 
a  distant  country  where  all  romances  unwind  their  shin- 
ing coils.  And  he  had  longed  for  events,  tragic,  tremen- 
dous, horrible,  even,  if  only  they  were  unusual.  He  had 
longed  for  an  incentive  which  would  call  his  secret  powers 
into  supreme  activity. 

Should  he  go  to  the  Nile  very  soon — ^this  spring  ? 

He  looked  again  at  the  letter.  He  read  again  those 
apparently  insignificant  words : 

*'She  packed  off  her  French  maid,  so  as  to  be  quite 
free." 


S42  BELLA  DONNA 


xxvin 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  INIeyer  Isaacson  had  no 
patients  and  no  engagements.  He  had  deliberately  kept 
the  day  free,  in  order  that  he  might  study,  and  answer  a 
quantity  of  letters.  He  was  paying  the  penalty  of  his 
great  success,  and  was  one  of  the  hardest  worked  men  in 
London.  At  the  beginning  of  the  New  Year  he  had  even 
broken  through  his  hitherto  inflexible  rule,  and  now  he 
frequently  saw  patients  up  till  half -past  seven  o'clock. 
He  dined  out  much  less  than  in  former  days,  and  was 
seldom  seen  at  concerts  and  the  play.  Success,  like  a 
monster,  had  gripped  him,  was  banishing  pleasure  from  his 
life.  He  worked  harder  and  harder,  gained  ever  more  and 
more  money,  rose  perpetually  nearer  to  the  top  of  his 
ambition.  Not  long  ago  royalty  had  called  him  in  for  the 
first  time,  and  been  pleased  to  approve  both  of  him  per- 
sonally and  of  his  professional  services.  The  future,  no 
doubt,  held  a  title  for  him.  All  the  ultra-fashionable  world 
thronged  to  consult  him.  Even  since  the  Armines'  depart- 
ure he  had  gone  up  several  rungs  of  the  ladder.  His  strong 
desire  to  ''arrive" — and  arrival  in  his  mind  meant  far 
more  than  it  does  in  the  minds  of  most  men — and  his  acute 
pleasure  in  adding  perpetually  to  his  fortune,  drove  him 
incessantly  onward.  In  his  few  free  hours  he  was  slowly 
and  laboriously  writing  a  work  on  poisons,  the  work  for 
which  he  had  been  preparing  in  Italy  during  his  last 
holiday.  On  this  Sunday  he  meant  to  devote  some  hours 
to  it.    But  first  he  would  *'get  through'*  his  letters. 

After  a  hasty  breakfast,  he  shut  himself  up  in  his  study. 
London  seemed  strangely  quiet.  Even  here  within  four 
walls,  and  without  looking  at  the  outside  world,  one  felt 
that  it  was  Sunday;  one  felt  also  that  almost  everybody 
was  out  of  town.  A  pall  of  grey  brooded  over  the  city. 
Isaacson  turned  on  the  electric  light,  stood  for  a  moment  in 
front  of  the  fire,  then  went  over  to  his  writing-table.  The 
letters  he  intended  to  answer  were  arranged  in  a  pile  on  the 


BELLA  DONNA  343 

right  hand  side  of  his  blotting-pad.  Many  of  them — most  of 
them — were  from  people  who  desired  to  consult  him,  or  from 
patients  about  their  cases.  These  letters  meant  money. 
Numbers  of  them  he  could  answer  with  a  printed  card  to 
which  he  would  only  have  to  add  a  date  and  a  name. 
Monotonous  work,  but  swiftly  done,  a  filling  up  of  many 
of  the  hours  of  his  life  which  were  near  at  hand. 

He  sat  down,  took  a  packet  of  his  printed  engagement 
forms,  and  a  pen,  put  them  before  him,  then  opened  one 
of  the  letters: 

''4,  Manton  Street,  Maypair,  Jan.  2. 
'*Dear  Doctor  Isaacson: 
** My  health,''  etc.,  etc. 

He  opened  another: 

200,  Park  Lane,  Jan. 


**Dear  Doctor  Isaacson: 


**I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me,  but " 

etc.,  etc. 

He  took  up  a  third : 

**lx,  Berkeley  Square,  Jan. 

*'Dear  Doctor  Isaacson: 

*'That  strange  feeling  in  my  head  has  returned,  and  I 
should  like  to  see  you  about  it,"  etc.,  etc. 

Usually  he  answered  such  letters  with  energy,  and  cer- 
tainly without  any  disgust.  They  were  the  letters  he 
wanted.  He  could  scarcely  have  too  many  of  them.  But 
to-day  a  weariness  overtook  him ;  almost  more  than  a  weari- 
ness, a  sort  of  sick  irritation  against  the  life  that  he  had 
chosen  and  that  he  was  making  a  marvellous  success  of. 
Illness,  always  illness !  Pale  faces,  disordered  nerves,  dys- 
pepsia, melancholia,  anaemia,  all  the  troop  of  ills  that  afflict 
humanity,  marching  for  ever  into  his  room!  What  com- 
pany for  a  man  to  keep!  What  company!  Suddenly  he 
pushed  away  the  printed  forms,  put  down  his  pen,  and 
got  up. 


S44.  BELLA  DONNA 

He  knew  quite  well  what  was  troubling  him.  It  was  the 
letter  he  had  had  from  the  Nile.  At  first  it  had  disturbed 
him  in  one  way.  Now  it  was  disturbing  him  in  another. 
It  was  a  call  to  him  from  a  land  which  he  Imew  he  must 
love,  a  call  to  him  from  his  own  place.  For  his  ancestors 
had  been  Jews  of  the  East,  and  some  of  them  had  been 
settled  in  Cairo.  It  was  a  call  from  the  shining  land.  He 
remembered  how  one  night,  when  Nigel  and  he  were  talk- 
ing about  Egypt,  Nigel  had  said:  *'You  ought  to  go  there. 
You'd  be  in  your  right  place  there." 

If  he  did  go  there!  If  he  went  soon,  very  soon — this 
spring ! 

But  how  could  he  take  a  holiday  in  the  spring,  just  when 
everybody  was  coming  to  town  ?  Then  he  told  himself  that 
he  was  saying  nonsense  to  himself.  People  went  abroad  in 
the  spring,  to  India,  Sicily,  the  Riviera,  the  Nile.  Ah,  he 
was  back  again  on  the  Nile!  But  so  many  people  did  not 
go  abroad.  It  would  be  madness  for  a  fashionable  doctor 
to  be  away  just  when  the  season  was  coming  on.  Well,  but 
he  might  run  out  for  a  very  short  time — for  a  couple  of 
weeks,  something  like  that.  Two  nights  from  London  to 
Naples;  two  nights  at  sea  in  one  of  the  new,  swift  boats, 
the  Heliopolis,  perhaps;  a  few  hours  in  the  train,  and  he 
would  be  at  Cairo.  Five  nights'  travelling  would  bring 
him  to  the  first  cataract.  And  he  would  be  in  the  real 
light. 

He  stared  at  the  electric  bulbs  that  gleamed  on  either 
side  of  the  mantelpiece.  Then  he  glanced  towards  the 
windows,  oblongs  of  dingy  grey  looking  upon  fog  and 
daylight  darkness. 

That  would  be  good,  to  be  in  the  real  light ! 

Nigel's  letter  lay  somewhere  under  the  letters  from 
patients.  The  Doctor  went  back  to  his  table,  searched  for 
it,  and  found  it.  Then  he  came  back  to  the  fire,  and  studied 
the  letter  carefully  again. 

**Do  you  remember  our  walk  home  from  the  concert 
that  night,  and  how  I  said,  'I  want  to  get  into  the  light, 
the  real  light'?    Well,  I'm  in  it,  and  how  I  wish  that  you 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  S45 

and  every  one  else  could  be  in  it  too !  ,  .  .  Come  to  the 
Nile  when  next  you  take  a  holiday.  *  * 

It  was  almost  an  invitation  to  go;  not  quite  an  invita- 
tion, but  almost.  Isaacson  seemed  to  divine  that  the  man 
who  wrote  wished  his  friend  to  come  out  and  see  his  happi- 
ness, but  that  he  did  not  quite  dare  to  ask  him  to  come 
out;  seemed  to  divine  a  hostile  influence  that  kept  the  pen 
in  cheek. 

' '  I  wonder  if  she  knows  of  this  letter  ? ' ' 

That  question  came  into  Isaacson's  mind.  The  last 
words  of  the  letter  almost  implied  that  she  knew.  Nigel 
had  meant  to  tell  her  of  it,  had  doubtless  told  her  of  it  on 
the  day  when  he  wrote  it.  If  Isaacson  went  to  the  Nile, 
there  was  one  person  on  the  river  who  would  not  welcome 
liim.  He  knew  that  well.  And  Nigel,  of  course,  did  not 
really  want  him.  Happy  people  do  not  really  want  friends 
outside  to  come  into  the  magic  circle  and  share  their  happi- 
ness. They  may  say  they  do,  out  of  good-will.  Even  for  a 
moment,  moved  by  an  enthusiastic  impulse,  they  may  think 
that  they  do.  But  true  happiness  is  exquisitely  exclusive 
in  its  desires. 

'*Armine  would  like  me  just  to  see  it's  all  right,  and 
then,  when  I  Ve  seen,  he  would  like  to  kick  me  out. ' ' 

That  was  how  Isaacson  summed  up  eventually  Nigel's 
exact  feeling  towards  him  at  this  moment.  It  was  hardly 
worth  while  undertaking  the  journey  from  England  to 
gratify  such  a  desire  of  the  happy  egoist.  Better  put  the 
idea  away.     It  was  impracticable,  and 

''Besides,  it's  quite  out  of  the  question!" 

The  Doctor  returned  to  his  table,  and  began  resolutely 
to  write  answers  to  his  letters,  and  to  fix  appointments. 
He  went  on  writing  until  every  letter  was  answered — every 
letter  but  Nigel  Armine  's. 

And  then  again  the  strong  desire  came  upon  him  to 
answer  it  in  person,  one  morning  to  appear  on  the  river- 
bank  where  the — what  was  the  name? — the  Loulia  was  tied 
up,  to  walk  on  deck,  and  ssty,  ''I  congratulate  you  on  your 
happiness." 


346  BELLA  DONNA 

How  amazed  his  friend  would  be!  And  his  enemy— 
what  would  her  face  be  like? 

Isaacson  always  thought  of  Mrs.  Armine  as  his  enemy. 
She  had  come  into  his  life  as  a  spy.  He  felt  as  if  from 
the  first  moment  when  she  had  seen  him  she  had  hated 
him.  She  had  got  the  better  of  him,  and  she  knew  it. 
Possibly  now,  because  of  that  knowledge,  she  would  like 
him  better.  She  had  won  out.  Or  had  she,  now  that  Lord 
Harwich  had  an  heir? 

As  he  sat  there  with  Nigel's  letter  before  him,  a  keen, 
an  almost  intense  curiosity  was  alive  in  Meyer  Isaacson. 
It  was  not  vulgar,  but  the  natural  curiosity  of  the  psycholo- 
gist about  strange  human  things.  Since  the  Armines  had 
left  London  and  he  had  known  of  their  marriage,  Isaacson 
had  thought  of  them  often,  but  a  little  vaguely,  as  of  people 
who  had  quite  gone  out  of  his  life  for  a  time.  He  had  to 
concentrate  on  his  own  affairs.  But  now,  with  this  letter, 
despite  the  great  distance  between  the  Armines  and  himself, 
they  seemed  to  be  quite  near  him.  All  his  recollection  of 
his  connection  with  them  started  up  in  his  mind,  vivid  and 
almost  fierce.  Especially  he  remembered  the  clever  woman, 
the  turn  of  her  beautiful  head,  the  look  in  the  eyes  contra- 
dicting the  lovely  line  of  the  profile,  the  irony  of  her  smile, 
the  attractive  intonations  of  her  lazy  voice.  He  remem- 
bered his  two  visits  to  her,  how  she  had  secretly  defied  him. 
He  recalled  exactly  her  appearance  when  he  had  bade  her 
good-bye  for  the  last  time,  eight  days  before  she  had  been 
married  to  Nigel.  She  had  stood  by  the  hearth,  in  a  rose- 
coloured  gown,  with  smoke- wreaths  curling  round  her.  And 
she  had  looked  quite  lovely  in  her  secret  triumph.  But 
as  he  went  out,  he  had  noticed  the  tiny  wrinkles  near  her 
eyes,  the  slight  hardness  about  her  cheek-bones,  the  cynical 
droop  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

And  he  had  remembered  these  things  when  he  learnt  of 
the  marriage,  and  he  had  foreseen  disaster. 

He  smoothed  out  Nigel's  letter,  and  he  took  up  his  pen 
to  answer  it.  Since  he  could  not  answer  it  in  person,  he 
must  despatch  the  substitute.     But  now  the  dreary  quiet 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  847 

of  the  London  Sunday  distressed  him  as  if  it  were  noise. 
He  foiind  himself  listening  to  it  with  a  sort  of  anxiety; 
he  felt  as  if  he  must  struggle  against  it  before  he  could 
write  sincerely  to  Nigel.  There  was  something  paralyzing 
in  this  dark  and  foggy  peace. 

Why  was  he  heaping  up  money,  grasping  at  fame,  dedi- 
cating himself  to  imprisonment  within  the  limits  of  this 
house,  within  this  sunless  to^vn  ?  Why  was  he  starving  his 
love  of  beauty,  his  natural  love  of  adventure,  his  quick 
feeling  for  romance  ?  Or  was  it  quick  any  longer  ?  Things 
not  encouraged  die  sometimes.  Certainly,  he  was  starving 
deliberately  much  of  himself. 

Again  came  the  desire  to  let,  for  once,  a  strong  impulse 
have  its  way,  to  forget,  for  once,  that  he  was  a  man  under 
strict  discipline — the  discipline  of  his  own  cruel  will — or 
to  remember  and  mutiny.  For  a  moment  his  thoughts 
were  almost  like  a  schoolboy's.  The  fun  of  it!  The  fun 
of  rapid  packing,  of  saying  to  Henry  (unboundedly^ 
amazed),  ''Call  me  a  four-wheeler!"  of  the  drive  to  Char- 
ing Cross,  of  the  registering  of  the  luggage,  of  the  rapid 
flight  through  the  wintry  landscape  till  the  grey  sea  beat 
up  almost  against  the  line,  of  the 

And  presently  Naples!  A  blue  sea,  the  mountains  of 
Crete,  the  iron  ridges  of  Zante,  and  at  last  a  laughing 
harbour,  boats  with  bellying  lateen  sails  manned  by  dark 
men  in  turbans,  white  houses,  flat  roofs,  palm-trees  1 

It  would  be  good !    It  would  be  splendid ! 

If  he  answered  Nigel's  letter,  he  would  not  yield  to  his 
impulse.    And  if  he  did  not  answer  it ? 

After  long  hesitation,  he  put  the  letter  aside,  he  got  out 
of  a  drawer  his  pile  of  manuscript  paper,  and  he  set  himself 
to  work.  And  presently  he  forgot  that  it  was  Sunday  in 
London;  he  forgot  everything  except  what  he  was  doing. 
But  in  the  evening,  when  he  was  dining  alone,  the  longing 
to  be  off  returned,  and  though  he  said  to  himself  that  he 
would  not  yield  to  it,  he  did  not  answer  Nigel's  letter. 
Absurdly,  he  felt  that  by  not  answering  it  he  left  the  door 
open  to  this  possible  pleasure. 


348  BELLA  DONNA 

He  never  answered  that  letter.  Day  after  day  went  by. 
He  worked  with  unflagging  energy.  He  seemed  as  atten- 
tive to,  as  deeply  interested  in,  his  patients  as  usual.  But  all 
the  time  that  he  sat  in  his  consulting-room,  that  he  listened 
to  accounts  of  symptoms,  that  he  gave  advice  and  wrote  out 
prescriptions,  he  was  secretly  playing  with  the  idea  that 
perhaps  this  spring  he  would  take  a  holiday  in  Egypt. 
He  had  an  ardent,  though  generally  carefully  controlled 
imagination.  Just  now  he  gave  it  the  reins.  In  the  darkest 
days  he  saw  himself  in  sunlight.  When  he  looked  at  the 
bare  trees  in  the  parks,  they  changed  in  a  moment  to  opulent 
palms.  He  heard  a  soft  \Ndnd  stirring  their  mighty  leaves. 
It  spoke  to  him  of  the  desert.  Never  before  had  he  gained 
Buch  definite  pleasure  from  his  imagination.  Had  he  become 
a  child  again?  It  almost  seemed  so.  If  his  patients  only 
knew  the  present  truths  of  the  man  whom  they  begged  to 
lead  them  to  health!  If  they  only  knew  his  wanderings 
while  they  were  unfolding  their  tales  of  wonder  and  woe ! 
But  his  face  told  nothing.  It  did  not  cry  to  them,  * '  I  am  in 
Egypt ! '  *    And  so  they  were  never  perturbed. 

February  slipped  away. 

If  he  really  meant  to  go  to  the  Nile,  he  must  not  delay 
his  departure.  Did  he  mean  to  go?  So  long  now  had  he 
played  with  the  delightful  imagination  of  a  voyage  to 
the  sun  that  he  began  to  say  to  himself  that  he  had  had  his 
pleasure  and  must  rest  satisfied.  He  even  told  himself  the 
commonplace  lie  that  the  thought  of  a  thing  is  more  satis- 
factory than  the  thing  itself  could  ever  be,  and  that  to  him 
the  real  Egypt  would  prove  a  disappointment  after  the 
imagined  Egypt  of  his  winter  dreams.  And  he  decided 
that  he  would  not  go,  that  he  had  never  intended  to  go. 

On  the  day  when  he  took  this  decision,  he  got  a  letter 
from  a  patient  whom  he  had  sent  to  \snnter  on  the  Nile. 
She  wrote  from  Luxor  many  details  of  her  condition,  ^^''^lich 
he  read  slowly  and  with  care.  Towards  the  end  of  the 
letter,  perhaps  made  frolicsome  by  confession,  she  broke 
into  gossip,  related  several  little  scandals  of  various  hotels, 
and  concluded  with  this  paragraph: 


It  ' 


BELLA  DONNA  349 

*' Quite  an  excitement  has  been  caused  here  by  the 
arrival  of  a  marvellous  dahabeeyah  called  the  Loulia.  She 
is  the  most  lovely  boat  on  the  Nile,  I  am  told,  and  every  one 
is  longing  to  go  over  her.  But  there  is  no  chance  for  any 
of  us.  In  the  first  place  the  Loulia  is  tied  up  at  the 
western  bank,  on  the  Theban  side  of  the  river,  and,  in  the 
second  place,  she  belongs  for  the  season  to  the  Nigel 
Armines.  And,  as  of  course  you  remember,  Mrs.  Nigel 
Armine  was  Mrs.  Chepstow,  and  utterly  impossible.  Now 
she  is  married  again  she  may  think  she  will  be  received, 
but  she  never  will  be.  Of  course,  if  she  could  have  had  the 
luck  one  day  to  become  Lady  Harwich,  it  might  have  become 
possible.  A  great  position  like  that  naturally  makes  people 
think  differently.  And,  after  all,  the  woman  is  married 
now.  But  no  use  talking  about  it!  The  twins  have  effec- 
tually knocked  that  possibility  on  the  head.  They  say  she 
nearly  went  mad  with  fury  when  she  heard  the  news.  It 
seems  he  had  never  given  her  a  hint  before  the  wedding. 
Wise  man!  He  evidently  knew  his  Mrs.  Chepstow.  Nev- 
ertheless, to  give  the  devil  her  due,  I  hear  she  seems  quite 
wrapped  up  in  her  husband.  I  saw  him  for  a  minute  the 
other  day,  when  I  was  crossing  to  go  to  the  tombs  of  the 
Kings.  He  was  looking  awfully  ill,  I  thought,  such  an 
extraordinary  colour!  I  didn't  see  her,  but  they  say  she 
looks  younger  than  ever,  and  much  more  beautiful  than 
when  she  was  in  London.  Llarriage  evidently  suits  her, 
though  it  doesn^t  seem   to  suit  him,"  etc.,  etc. 

This  letter  arrived  by  an  evening  post,  and  Isaacson 
read  it  after  his  day's  work  was  done.  When  he  had  fin- 
ished it,  he  took  out  from  a  drawer  Nigel's  letter  to  him, 
which  he  had  kept,  and  compared  the  two.  It  was  not 
necessary  to  do  this,  for  Nigel's  words  were  in  his  memory. 
Isaacson  could  not  have  said  exactly  why  he  did  it.  The 
sight  of  the  two  letters  side  by  side  made  a  strongly  dis- 
agreeable impression  upon  him,  and  perhaps,  in  comparing 
them  thus,  he  had  almost  unconsciously  been  seeking  such 
an  impression. 

'* Never  m  my  life  have  I  been  in  such  splendid  health.*' 


350  BELLA  DONNA 

**He  was  looking  awfully  ill — such  an  extraoiamary 
colour ! ' ' 

What  had  happened  between  the  writing  of  the  first 
letter  and  the  writing  of  the  last  ?  What  had  produced  this 
change  ? 

After  a  few  minutes,  Isaacson  put  both  the  letters  away 
and  softly  shut  the  drawer  of  the  writing-table.  He  had 
dined.  The  night  was  his.  He  had  his  nargeeleh  brought, 
and  told  Henry  that  he  was  not  to  be  disturbed. 

Not  since  that  night  of  autumn  when  Nigel  had  said  of 
Mrs.  Chepstow,  "She  talks  of  coming  to  Egypt  for  the 
winter,"  had  Isaacson  taken  the  long  and  snake-like  pipe- 
stem  into  his  hand.  Only  when  his  mind  was  specially 
alive,  almost  excitedly  alive,  and  when  he  wished  to  push 
that  vitality  to  its  limit,  did  he  instinctively  turn  to  the 
nargeeleh.  Then  his  fingers  and  his  lips  needed  it.  His 
eyes  needed  it,  too.  Some  breath  of  the  East  ran  through 
him,  stirring  inherited  instincts,  inherited  needs,  to  life. 
Now  he  turned  out  all  the  electric  lights,  he  sat  down  in 
the  dim  glow  from  the  fire,  and  he  took  once  again,  eagerly, 
between  his  thin  fingers  the  snake-like  stem  of  the  nargeeleh. 
The  water  bubbled  in  the  cocoanut.  He  filled  his  lungs 
with  the  delicious  tumbak,  he  let  it  out  in  clouds  through 
his  nostrils. 

London  slept,  and  he  sat  there  still.  In  his  shining  eyes 
the  intense  life  of  his  mind  was  revealed.  But  there  was 
no  one  to  mark  it,  no  one  with  him  to  love  or  to  fear  it. 

At  last,  in  the  very  deep  of  the  night,  he  got  up  from 
his  chair.  He  sat  down  at  his  writing-table.  And  he 
w^orked  till  the  morning  came,  writing  letters  to  patients 
whose  names  he  looked  out  in  his  book  of  appointments, 
and  whose  addresses  he  turned  up  in  the  Red  Book,  or 
found  in  letters  which  he  had  kept  by  him,  going  through 
accounts,  studying  his  bank-book,  writing  to  his  banker 
and  his  stockbroker,  to  hospitals  with  which  he  was  con- 
nected, to  societies  for  which  he  sometimes  delivered 
addresses;  doing  a  multitude  of  things  which  might  surely 
— might  they  not? — have  waited  till  day.     And  when  at 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  351 

length  there  was  a  movement  in  the  house  which  told  of 
the  servants  awakening,  he  pushed  the  bell  with  a  long 
linger. 

Presently  Henry  came,  trying  to  hide  a  look  of  amaze- 
ment. 

' '  Directly  Cook 's  olBfice  in  Piccadilly  opens  I  shall  want 
this  letter  taken  there.  The  messenger  must  wait  for  an 
answer. ' ' 

He  held  out  a  letter. 

*'Yes,  sir." 

**A11  these  are  for  the  post." 

''Yes,  sir." 

*'You  might  order  Arthur  to  get  ready  my  bath." 

''Yes,  sir." 

The  doctor  stood  up. 

*'I  shall  see  patients  to-day.  To-morrow,  or  the  next 
day,  at  latest,  I  shall  leave  London.  I'm  going  to  Egypt 
for  a  few  weeks." 

There  was  a  pause.    Then  Henry  uttered  his  formula. 

''Yes,  sir,"  he  murmured. 

He  turned  and  went  slowly  out. 

His  sloping  shoulders  looked  as  if  the  Heavens  had 
fallen — on  them. 

XXIX 

Isaacson  refused  to  get  into  the  omnibus  at  the  station 
in  Cairo,  and  drove  to  Shepheard's  Hotel  in  a  victoria, 
drawn  by  a  pair  of  lean  grey  horses  with  long  manes  and 
tails.  The  coachman  was  an  Arab  much  pitted  with  small- 
pox, who  wore  the  tarbush  with  European  clothes.  It  was 
about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  streets  of  the 
enticing  and  confusing  city  were  crowded.  Isaacson  sat 
up  very  straight  and  looked  about  him  with  eager  eyes. 
He  felt  keenly  excited.  This  was  his  very  first  taste  of 
Eastern  life.  Never  before  had  he  set  foot  in  his  "own 
place."  Already,  despite  the  zest  shed  through  him  by 
ovelty,  he  had  an  odd,  happy  feeling  of  being  at  home. 


352  BELLA  DONNA 

He  saw  here  and  there  houses  with  white  facades,  before 
which  palm-trees  were  waving.  And  in  those  houses  he 
knew  he  could  be  very  much  at  ease.  The  courtyards,  the 
steps,  the  tiles,  a  fountain,  small  rugs,  a  divan,  a  carved 
dark  door,  a  great  screen  of  wood  hiding  an  inner  apart- 
ment— could  he  not  see  within  ?  He  had  never  entered  that 
house  there  on  the  left,  and  yet  he  knew  it.  And  this 
throng  of  Eastern  men,  with  dark,  keen,  shining  eyes,  with 
heavy,  slumbrous  eyes,  with  eyes  glittering  with  the  yellow 
fires  of  greed;  this  throng,  yellow-skinned,  browTi-skinned, 
black-skinned,  with  thin,  expressive  hands,  with  henna- 
tinted  nails,  vnth  narrow,  cunning  wrists;  this  throng  that 
talked  volubly,  that  gesticulated,  that  gazed,  observing 
without  self-consciousness,  summing  up  without  pity,  whose 
eyes  took  all  and  gave  nothing — if  he  stepped  out  of  the 
carriage,  if  he  forsook  the  borrowed  comforts  and  the  bor- 
rowed delights  of  Europe,  if  he  hid  himself  in  this  throng, 
would  he  not  find  himself  for  the  first  time  ? 

He  was  sorry  when  the  carriage  drew  up  before  the 
great  terrace  of  the  hotel.  But  he  had  not  lost  touch  with 
the  pageant.  He  realized  that,  almost  with  a  sensation  of 
exultation,  when  he  came  do\^Ti  from  his  room  between 
four  and  five  o'clock,  and  took  a  seat  by  the  railing. 

"Tea,  sir?" 

He  nodded  to  the  German  waiter.  Somewhere  a  band 
was  playing  melodies  of  Europe.  That  night  he  would  seek 
in  the  native  quarter  the  whining  and  syncopated  tunes 
of  the  East. 

The  tea  was  brought,  and  an  Arab  approached  with 
papers:  the  ''Sphinx/'  a  French  paper  published  in  Cairo, 
and  London  papers,  the  ''Times,"  the  "Morning  Post.'' 
Isaacson  bought  two  or  three,  vaguely.  It  was  but  rarely  he 
felt  vague,  but  now,  as  he  sipped  his  tea,  his  excitement 
was  linked  with  something  else,  that  seemed  misty  and 
nebulous,  yet  not  free  from  a  sort  of  enchantment.  By 
the  railing,  before  and  beneath  him,  a  world  of  many  of  his 
dreams — his  nargeeleh  dreams — flowed  by.  The  abruptness 
Qf  his  decision  to  come — that  made  half  the  enchantment 


BELLA  DONNA  35S 

of  his  coming,  made  a  wonder  of  his  arrival.  The  boy  in 
him  was  alive  to-day,  but  with  the  boy  there  stood  the 
dreamer. 

The  terrace,  of  course,  was  crowded.  People  of  many 
nations  sat  behind  and  on  each  side  of  Meyer  Isaacson, 
walked  up  and  down  the  broad  flight  of  steps  that  connected 
the  terrace  with  the  pavement,  stared,  gesticulated,  gos- 
siped. There  was  a  clatter  of  china.  Girls  in  long  veils 
munched  cakes,  and,  more  delicately,  ate  ices  tinted  pink, 
pale  green,  and  almond  colour.  Elderly  ladies  sat  low  in 
basket  chairs,  almost  dehumanized  by  sight-seeing.  Anti- 
quarians argued  and  protested,  shaking  their  forefingers, 
browned  by  the  sun  that  shines  in  the  desert.  American 
business  men,  on  holiday,  smoked  large  cigars,  and  invited 
friends  from  New  York,  Boston,  Washington  to  dinner. 
European  boys,  smartly  dressed,  full  of  life  and  gaiety, 
went  eagerly  up  and  down  excitedly  retailing  experiences. 
And  perpetually  carrriages  drove  up,  set  down,  and 
departed,  while  a  lean,  beautifully  clad  Arab  with  grey 
hair  noted  hours,  prices,  numbers,  in  a  mysterious  book. 

But  Meyer  Isaacson  all  the  time  was  watching  the 
Easterns  who  passed  and  repassed  in  the  noisy  street.  He 
had  not  even  glanced  keenly  once  at  the  crowd  of  travellers 
to  see  if  there  were  any  whom  he  knew,  patients,  friends^ 
enemies.  His  usual  sharp  consciousness  of  those  about  him 
was  for  once  completely  in  abeyance. 

Presently,  however,  his  attention  was  transferred  from 
the  street  to  the  terrace,  carried  thither,  so  it  seemed  to 
him,  by  a  man  who  moved  from  the  one  to  the  other.  There 
passed  in  front  of  him  slowly  one  of  the  most  perfectly 
built  mail  phaetons  he  had  ever  seen.  It  was  very  high 
and  large,  but  looked  elegantly  light,  and  it  was  drawn  b}^ 
a  pair  of  superb  Russian  horses,  jet-black,  full  of  fiery 
spirit,  matched  to  a  hair,  and  with  such  grand  action  that 
it  was  an  aesthetic  pleasure  to  look  upon  them  moving. 

Sitting  alone  in  the  front  of  the  phaeton  was  the  man 
who,  almost  immediately,  was  to  draw  Isaacson's  attention 
to  the  terrace.  He  was  Mahmoud  Baroudi.  He  was  dressed 
23 


354  BELLA  DONNA 

in  a  light  grey  suit,  and  wore  the  tarbush.  Behind  him 
sat  a  very  smart  little  English  groom,  dressed  in  liver\', 
with  a  shining  top-hat,  breeches,  and  top-boots.  The 
phaeton  was  black  with  scarlet  wheels.  The  silver  on  the 
harness  glittered  with  polish ;  the  chains  which  fastened  the 
horses  to  the  scarlet  pole  gleamed  brilliantly  in  the  sun- 
shine. But  it  was  Baroudi,  his  extraordinary  physique,  his 
striking,  nonchalant  face,  and  his  first-rate  driving,  which 
attracted  all  eyes,  which  held  Isaacson's  eyes.  He  pulled 
up  his  horses  in  front  of  the  steps.  The  groom  was  down 
in  a  moment.  Baroudi  gave  him  the  reins,  got  out,  and 
walked  up  to  the  terrace.  He  stood  for  a  moment,  looking 
calmly  round;  then  brought  his  right  hand  to  his  tarbush 
as  he  saw  a  party  of  French  friends,  which  he  immediately 
joined.  They  welcomed  him  with  obvious  delight.  Two  of 
them,  perfectly  dressed  Parisian  women,  made  room  for 
him  between  them.  As  he  sat  down,  smiling,  Isaacson 
noticed  his  slanting  eyebrows  and  his  magnificent  throat, 
which  looked  as  strong  as  the  throat  of  a  bull. 

* '  My  dear  Isaacson !  Is  it  possible  ?  I  should  almost  as 
soon  have  expected  to  meet  the  Sphinx  in  Cleveland 
Square  !*' 

A  tall  man,  not  much  over  thirty,  with  light,  imagina- 
tive, yet  penetrating  eyes,  stood  before  him,  ajid  with  a 
*'May  ir*  sat  down  beside  him,  after  cordially  grasping 
his  hand. 

** Starn worth,  you're  one  of  the  few  men — I  might  say 
almost  the  only  man — I'm  glad  to  meet  at  this  moment. 
Where  have  you  just  come  from,  or  where  are  you  just 
going?    I  can't  believe  you  are  going  to  stay  in  Cairo." 

**No.  I've  been  in  Syria,  just  arrived  from  Damascus. 
I've  been  with  a  caravan — yes,  I'll  have  some  tea.  I'm 
going  to  start  to-morrow  or  next  day  from  Mena  House  for 
another  little  desert  trip." 

' '  Little !    How  many  days  ? ' ' 

**0h,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  newcomer,  negligently. 
**  Three  weeks  out  and  three  weeks  back,  I  believe — some- 
thing like  that — to  visit  an  oasis  where  there  are  some 


BELLA  DONNA  S55 

extraordinary  ruins.  But  why  are  you  here?  What  in- 
duced you  to  leave  your  innumerable  patients?'' 

After  a  very  slight  hesitation  Isaacson  answered : 

''A  whim." 

*'The  deuce!  Can  doctors  who  are  the  rage  permit 
themselves  to  be  governed  by  whims  ? ' ' 

This  man,  Basil  Starnworth,  was  an  English  nomad 
who  for  years  had  steeped  himself  in  the  golden  East,  who 
spoke  Arabic  and  innumerable  Eastern  dialects,  who  was 
more  at  home  with  Bedouins  than  with  his  own  brothers, 
and  who  was  a  mine  of  knowledge  about  the  natives  of 
Syria,  of  Egypt,  and  the  whole  of  Northern  Africa — about 
their  passions,  their  customs,  their  superstitions,  and  all 
their  ways  of  life.  Isaacson  had  cured  him  of  a  malarial 
fever  contracted  on  one  of  his  journeys.  That  night  they 
dined  together,  and  after  dinner  Starnworth  took  Isaacson 
to  see  some  of  the  native  quarters  of  the  town. 

It  was  towards  eleven  o'clock  when  Isaacson  found 
himself  sitting  in  a  small,  rude  cafe  that  was  hidden  in  the 
very  bowels  of  Cairo.  Through  winding  alleys  they  had 
reached  it — alleys  full  of  painted  ladies,  alleys  gleaming 
with  the  lights  shed  from  solitary  candles  set  within  entries 
tinted  mauve,  and  blue,  and  scarlet,  or  placed  half-way 
up  narrow  flights  of  whitewashed  stairs.  And  in  these 
winding  alleys,  mingled  with  human  cries,  and  laughter, 
and  murmured  invitations,  and  barterings,  and  refusals, 
there  had  been  music  that  seemed  to  wind  on  and  on  in 
ribands  of  sound — music  that  was  hoarse  and  shrill  and 
weary,  that  was  piercing,  yet  at  the  same  time  furtive — 
music  that  was  provocative,  and  yet  that  was  often  sad, 
with  a  strange  sadness  of  the  desert  and  of  desire  among 
the  sands.  Even  now,  in  the  maze  around  this  cafe,  there 
was  another  maze  of  sound,  the  tripping  notes  of  Eastern 
dance  tunes,  the  wail  of  the  African  hautboy,  the  twitter  of 
little  flutes  that  set  the  pace  for  the  pale  Circassians,  the 
dull  murmur  of  daraboukkehs. 

An  old  Arab  who  was  *'hajjee"  brought  them  coffee, 
straight  from  the  glowing  embers.    Starnworth  took  from 


356  BELLA  DONNA 

his  pocket  a  little  box  of  tobacco  and  cigarette-papers,  and 
deftly  rolled  two  cigarettes.  There  were  but  few  people 
in  the  cafe,  and  they  were  Easterns — two  Egyptians,  a 
negro,  and  three  soldiers  from  the  Soudan,  black,  thin 
almost  as  snakes,  with  skins  so  dry  that  they  looked  like 
the  skins  of  some  reptiles  of  the  sands.  And  these  Easterns 
were  almost  motionless,  and  seemed  to  be  sunk  in  dreams 

**Why  did  you  bring  me  here?"  asked  Isaacson. 

**It  bores  you?" 

**No.  But  I  want  to  know  why  you  chose  this  cafe  out 
of  all  the  cafes  of  Cairo. ' ' 

**It's  a  very  old  and,  among  Easterns,  very  famous 
resort  of  smokers  of  hashish.  You  notice  the  blackened 
walls,  the  want  of  light.  The  hashish  smoker  does  not 
desire  any  luxury  or  brightness.  He  wants  his  dream,  and 
he  gets  it  here.  You  would  scarcely  suppose  it,  but  there 
are  rich  Egyptians  of  the  upper  classes,  men  who  are  seen 
at  official  receptions,  who  go  to  the  great  balls  at  the  smart 
hotels,  and  who  slink  in  here  secretly  night  after  night, 
mingle  with  the  lowest  riff-raff,  to  have  their  dream  beneath 
this  blackened  roof.    There  is  one  coming  in  now." 

As  he  spoke,  Mahmoud  Baroudi  appeared  in  the  door- 
way. He  was  dressed  in  native  costume — very  poorly 
dressed;  wore  a  dingy  turban,  and  a  long  gibbeh  of  dis- 
coloured cloth.  With  the  usual  salaam,  muttered  in  his 
throat,  he  went  into  the  farthest  and  darkest  corner  of  the 
cafe  and  squatted  down  on  the  floor.  The  old  Arab 
carried  to  him  in  a  moment  a  gozeh,  a  pipe  resembling  a 
nargeeleh,  but  without  the  snake-like  handle.  Baroudi  took 
it  for  a  moment,  inhaled  the  smoke  of  the  hashish,  and 
poured  it  out  from  his  mouth  and  nostrils. 

**He  looks  like  a  poor  Egyptian,"  said  Isaacson,  almost 
in  a  whisper. 

**He  is  a  millionaire.  By  the  way,  didn't  you  see  him 
this  afternoon?" 

'*Where?" 

*'At  Shepheard's.  He  drove  up  just  before  I  saw  you 
in  a  phaeton. ' ' 


BELLA  DONNA  357 

''The  man  with  the  Russian  horses!  Surely,  it's  im- 
possible ! ' ' 

"This  afternoon  he  was  the  cosmopolitan  millionaire. 
To-night  he  sinks  down  into  his  native  East." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"Mahmoud  Baroudi." 

"Mahmoud  Baroudi!"  repeated  Isaacson,  slowly  and 
softly. 

An  old  man  who  had  crept  in  began  to  sing  in  a  high 
and  quavering  voice  a  song  of  the  smokers  of  hashish, 
accompanying  himself  upon  an  instrument  of  tortoise  and 
goat-skin,  A  youth  in  skirts  began  to  posture  and  dance  an 
unfinished  dance  of  the  dreamer  who  has  been  led  by 
hashish  into  a  world  that  is  sweet  and  vague. 

"I'll  tell  you  about  him  later,"  whispered  Starn worth. 

That  night  they  sat  up  in  the  hotel  till  the  third  time 
of  the  Moslem's  prayer  was  near  at  hand.  Starn  worth, 
pleased  to  have  an  auditor  who  was  much  more  than  merely 
sympathetic,  who  understood  his  Eastern  lore  as  if  with 
a  mind  of  the  East,  poured  forth  his  curious  knowledge. 
And  Isaacson  gripped  it  as  only  the  Jew  can  grip.  He 
listened  and  listened,  saying  little,  until  Starnworth  began 
to  speak  of  the  strange  immutability  that  is  apparent  in 
Islam,  and  of  how  the  East  must  ever,  despite  the  most 
powerful  outside  influences,  remain  utterly  the  East. 

"  Or  so  it  seems  up  to  now, ' '  he  said. 

He  illustrated  and  emphasized  his  contention  by  a 
number  of  striking  examples.  He  spoke  of  Arabs,  of  Egyp- 
tians he  had  known  intimately,  whom  he  had  seen  sub- 
jected to  every  kind  of  European  influence,  whom  he  had 
even  seen  apparently  "  Europeanized, "  as  he  put  it,  but 
who,  when  the  moment  came,  had  shown  themselves 
"native"  to  the  core. 

"And  it  is  even  so  when  there  is  mingled  blood,"  he 
said.  "For  instance,  that  man  you  saw  to-night  smoking 
hashish,  wrapped  up  in  that  dirty  old  gibbeh,  had  a  Greek 
mother,  and  may  have — no  doubt  has — some  aptitudes,  some 
characteristics  that  are  Greek,  but  they  are  dominated, 
almost  swallowed  up  by  the  East  that  is  in  him." 


358  BELLA  DONNA 

*'Do  you  know  him?'* 

*  *  I  have  never  spoken  to  him,  but  I  have  heard  a  great 
deal  about  him — from  Egyptians,  mind  you,  as  well  as 
Europeans.  With  the  English,  and  foreigners  generally, 
he  is  an  immense  success.  He  is  a  very  clever  man,  and 
has  excellent  qualities,  I  believe.  But  he  is  of  the  East. 
He  is  capable  of  giving  one — who  does  not  know  very 
much — the  most  profound  surprises.  To  ordinary  eyes  he 
shows  nothing,  nothing  of  what  he  is.  He  seems  calm, 
dominating,  practical,  even  cold  and  businesslike,  full 
always  of  the  most  complete  self-possession,  calculating,  but 
generous,  and  kind,  charming,  polished,  suave  and  indiffer- 
ent, with  a  sort  of  tremendously  masculine  indifference. 
I  have  often  seen  him  in  society.  Even  to  me  he  has 
given  that  type  of  impression. ' ' 

' '  And  what  is  the  real  man  ? ' ' 

"Red-hot  under  the  crust,  a  tremendous  hater  and  a 
simply  tremendous  lover.  But  he  hates  with  his  soul  and 
he  loves  with  his  body — they  say.  They  say  he's  the  slave 
of  his  soul  in  hatred,  the  slave  of  his  body  in  love.  He's 
committed  crimes  for  women,  if  I  ever  get  truth  from  my 
native  friends.  And  I  believe  I  am  one  of  the  few  Euro- 
peans who  can  get  a  good  deal  of  truth  from  the  natives." 

' '  Crimes,  you  say  ? ' ' 

'*Yes,"  returned  Starnworth,  with  his  odd,  negligent 
manner,  which  suggested  a  man  who  would  undertake  a 
desert  journey  full  of  tremendous  hardships  clad  in  a 
dressing-gown  and  slippers. 

**But  not  for  his  own  women,  not  for  the  beauties  of 
the  East.  Baroudi  is  one  of  the  many  Egyptians  who  go 
mad  over  the  women  of  Europe  and  of  the  New  World,  who 
go  mad  over  their  fairness  of  skin,  their  delicate  colouring 
and  shining  hair.  There  was  a  dancer  at  the  opera  house 
here  one  season — a  Dane  she  was,  all  fairness,  the  Northern 
sunbeam  type " 

"I  know." 

*'He  spent  thousands  upon  her.  Gave  her  a  yacht,  took 
her  off  in  it  to  the  Greek  islnnds  and  Naples.  Presently 
she  wanted  to  marry." 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  359 

'*  A  merchant  of  Copenhagen,  a  very  rich  man.  Baroudi 
was  charming  about  it.  The  merchant  came  out  to  Cairo 
during  the  dancer's  second  season  at  the  opera.  Baroudi 
entertained  him,  became  his  friend,  talked  business,  im- 
pressed the  Dane  immensely  with  his  practical  qualities, 
put  him  up  to  some  splendid  'specs.'  Result — the  Dane 
was  ruined,  and  went  back  to  Copenhagen  minus  his  for- 
tune and — naturally — minus  his  lady-love. ' ' 

*  *  And  what  became  of  her  ? ' ' 

*'I  forget.  Don't  think  I  ever  knew.  She  vanished 
from  the  opera  house.  But  the  best  of  it  is  that  the  Dane 
to  this  day  swears  by  Baroudi,  and  thinks  it  was  his  own 
folly  that  did  for  him.  There  are  much  worse  things  than 
that,  though.  Baroudi 's  a  man  who  would  stick  at  abso- 
lutely nothing  once  he  got  the  madness  for  a  woman  into 
his  body.    For  instance " 

He  told  stories  of  Baroudi,  stories  which  the  Europeans 
of  Egypt  knew  nothing  of,  but  which  some  Egyptians  knew 
and  smiled  at;  one  or  two  of  them  sounded  very  ugly  to 
European  ears. 

"lie's  a  Turco-Egyptian,  you  know,"  Starnworth  said, 
presently,  "and  has  the  cunning  that  comes  from  the 
Bosphorus  grafted  on  to  the  cunning  that  flourishes  beneath 
the  indifference  of  the  Sphinx.  We  should  call  him  a  rank 
bad  lot" — the  dressing-gown  and  slippers  manner  was 
very  much  in  evidence  just  here — "but  the  Turco-Egyptian 
has  a  different  code  from  ours.  I  must  say  I  admire  the 
man.  He's  got  so  much  grit  in  him.  Worker,  lover,  hater 
— there's  grit  and  go  in  each.  Whichever  bobs  up,  bobs  up 
to  win  right  out.  But  it's  the  madness  for  women  that 
really  rules  the  fellow's  life,  according  to  Egyptians  who 
are  near  him  and  who  know  him  well.  And  that's  so 
with  far  more  men  of  Eastern  blood  than  you  would  sup- 
pose, unless  you'd  lived  among  them  and  knew  them  as  I 
do.  Arabs  will  literally  run  crazy  for  a  fair  face.  So  will 
Egyptians.  And  once  they  are  dominated,  they  are  domi- 
nated to  an  extent  an  Englishman  would  scarcely  be  able 


360  BELLA  DONNA 

to  understand.  I  knew  an  Arab  of  the  Sahara  who  broke 
down  the  palm-wood  door  of  an  auberge  at  El-Kelf  and  cut 
the  throat  of  the  Frenchwoman  who  kept  it,  cut  it  while 
she  was  screaming  her  soul  out — and  only  to  get  the  few 
francs  in  the  till  to  send  to  a  girl  in  Paris  he'd  met  at  the 
great  Exhibition.  And  the  old  Frenchwoman  had  be- 
friended that  man  for  over  sixteen  years,  had  almost 
brought  him  up  from  a  boy,  had  written  his  letters  for  him 
to  the  tourists  and  sportsmen  whose  guide  he  was.  Mah- 
moud  Baroudi  would  do  as  much  for  a  woman,  once  he  'd  got 
the  madness  for  her  into  his  body,  but  he  'd  do  it  in  a  more 
brainy  way." 

Starnworth  talked  on  and  on.  The  time  of  the  third 
prayer  was  at  hand  when  at  last  he  said  good-night.  Turn- 
ing at  the  door,  just  as  he  was  going  out,  he  looked  at 
Isaacson  with  his  light  and  imaginative  eyes. 

"A  different  code  from  ours,  you  see!"  he  murmured. 

He  went  out  and  gently  shut  the  door. 

Although  it  was  so  late  and  Isaacson  had  that  day 
arrived  from  a  journey,  he  felt  strongly  alive,  and  as  if  no 
power  to  sleep  were  in  him.  Of  course,  he  must  go  to  bed, 
nevertheless.  Slowly  he  began  to  undress,  slowly  and 
reluctantly. 

And  he  was  in  Cairo,  actually  in  Cairo!  All  around 
him  in  the  night  was  Cairo,  with  its  houses  full  of  Egyp- 
tians sleeping,  with  its  harims,  with  its  mosques!  Not 
far  away  was  the  Sphinx  looking  east  in  the  sand ! 

He  pottered  about  his  room.  He  did  things  very  slowly. 
Eastern  life,  as  it  had  flowed  from  the  lips  of  Starnworth, 
went  before  his  imagination  like  a  great  and  strange  pro- 
cession. And  in  this  procession  IMahmoud  Baroudi  drove 
Russian  horses,  and  walked,  almost  like  a  mendicant,  in  a 
discoloured  gibbeh.  And  then  the  procession  stopped,  and 
Isaacson  saw  the  dingy  cafe  in  the  entrails  of  Cairo,  and 
Mahmoud  Baroudi  crouched  upon  the  floor  drawing  the 
smoke  of  the  hashish  into  his  nostrils. 

At  last  Isaacson  was  in  pajamas  and  ready  for  bed. 
But  still  his  mind  was  terribly  wide  awake.     The  papers 


BELLA  DONNA  361 

he  had  bought  in  the  aftern(von  were  lying  upon  his  table. 
Should  he  read  a  little  to  compose  his  mind?  He  took  up 
a  paper — the  Morning  Post — opened  it,  and  glanced 
casually  over  the  middle  page. 

''Sudden  death  of  the  Earl  of  Harwich." 

So  Nigel's  brother  was  gone,  and,  but  for  the  twin  boys 
so  recently  arrived,  Mrs.  Armine  would  at  this  moment 
be  Countess  of  Harwich ! 

Isaacson  read  the  paragraph  quickly;  then  he  put  the 
paper  down  and  opened  his  window.  He  wanted  to  think  in 
the  air.  As  he  leaned  out  to  the  silent  city,  faintly,  as  if 
from  very  far  off,  he  heard  a  cry  that  thrilled  through  his 
blood  and  set  his  pulses  beating. 

From  a  minaret  a  mueddin  was  calling  the  faithful  to 
prayer,  at  *'fegr,"  when  the  sun  pushes  the  first  ray  of 
steel-coloured  light,  like  the  blade  of  a  distant  lance,  into 
the  breast  of  the  East. 

' '  Al-la-hu-akbar !    Al-la-hu-ak-bar ! ' ' 


XXX 

Isaacson  had  come  out  to  Egypt  with  no  settled  plan. 
The  only  thing  he  knew  was  that  he  meant  to  see  Nigel 
Armine.  He  had  not  cabled  or  written  to  let  Nigel  know 
he  was  coming,  and  now  that  he  was  in  Cairo  he  did  not 
attempt  to  communicate  with  the  Loulia.  He  would  go  up 
the  Nile.  He  would  find  the  marvellous  boat.  And  one  day 
he  would  stand  upon  a  brown  bank  above  her,  he  would  see 
his  friend  on  the  deck,  would  hail  him,  would  cross  the 
gangway  and  walk  on  board.    Nigel  would  be  amazed. 

And  Mrs.  Armine? 

Many  times  on  shipboard  Isaacson  had  wondered  what 
look  he  would  surprise  in  the  eyes  of  Bella  Donna  when 
he  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  Those  eyes  had  already 
defied  him.  They  had  laughed  at  him  ironically.  Once 
they  had  almost  seemed  to  menace  him.  What  greeting 
would  they  give  him  in  Egypt  ? 


362  BELLA  DONNA 

That  the  death  of  Lord  Harwich  would  recall  Nigel  tc 
England  he  scarcely  supposed.  The  death  had  been  sudden. 
It  would  be  impossible  for  Nigel  to  arrive  for  the  funeral. 
And  Isaacson  knew  what  had  been  the  Harwich  view  of 
the  connection  with  Mrs.  Chepstow,  what  Lady  Harwich 
had  thought  and  said  of  it.  Zoe  Harwich  was  very  out- 
spoken. It  was  improbable  that  Nigel's  trip  on  the  Nile 
would  be  brought  to  an  end  by  his  brother's  death.  Still, 
it  was  not  impossible.  Isaacson  realized  that,  and  on  the 
following  day,  meeting  a  London  acquaintance  in  the  hotel, 
a  man  who  knew  everything  about  everybody,  he  spoke  of 
the  death  casually,  and  wondered  whether  Armine  would 
be  leaving  the  Nile  for  England. 

' '  Not  he !    Too  seedy ! ' '  was  the  reply. 

Isaacson  remembered  the  letter  he  had  had  in  London 
from  his  patient  at  Luxor. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

*' Sunstroke,  they  say.  He  went  out  at  midday  without 
a  hat — just  the  sort  of  thing  Armine  would  do — went  out 
diggin'  for  antiquities,  and  got  a  touch  of  the  sun.  I 
don 't  think  it 's  serious.  But  there 's  no  doubt  he 's  damned 
seedy. '  * 

**D'you  know  where  the  boat  is — the  Louliaf" 

*' Somewhere  between  Luxor  and  Assouan,  I  believe. 
Armine  and  his  wife  are  perfect  turtle-doves,  you  know, 
always  I..3ep  to  themselves  and  get  right  away  from  the 
crowd.  One  never  sees  'em,  except  by  chance.  She's 
playin '  the  model  wife.    Wonder  how  long  it  '11  last ! ' ' 

In  his  laugh  there  was  a  sound  of  cynical  incredulity. 
When  he  had  strolled  away,  Isaacson  went  round  to  Cook 's 
office,  and  took  a  sleeping  compartment  in  the  express  train 
that  started  for  Luxor  that  evening.  He  would  see  the 
further  wonders  of  Cairo,  the  Pyramids,  the  Sphinx, 
Sakkara — later,  when  he  came  down  the  Nile,  if  he  had 
time;  if  not,  he  would  not  see  them  at  all.  He  had  not 
travelled  from  England  to  see  sights.  That  was  the  truth. 
He  knew  it  now,  despite  the  longing  that  Cairo,  the  real 
Cairo  of  the  strange,  dimly-lit  and  brightly-tinted  interiors, 


BELLA  DONNA  363 

of  the  shrill  and  weary  music,  of  the  painted  girls  and  the 
hashish  smokers,  and  of  that  voice  which  cried  aloud  in 
the  mystic  hour  the  acclamation  of  the  Creator — had  waked 
in  his  Eastern  nature  to  sink  into  the  life  which  his  ances- 
tors knew — the  life  of  the  Eastern  Jews.  He  knew  what  his 
real  purpose  had  been. 

Yet  he  left  Cairo  with  regret.  Starnworth  had  asked 
him  to  come  on  that  six  weeks'  desert  journey.  He  longed 
to  do  that,  too.  With  this  cessation  of  work,  this  abrupt 
and  complete  change  of  life,  had  come  an  almost  wild  desire 
for  liberty,  for  adventure.  This  persistent  worker  woke 
to  the  great,  stretching  life  outside — outside  of  his  con- 
sulting-room, of  the  grey  sea  that  ringed  the  powerful 
Island,  outside  of  Europe,  a  little  weary,  a  little  over- 
civilized.  And  a  voice  that  seemed  to  come  from  the  centre 
of  his  soul  clamoured  for  wild  empires,  for  freedoms  unut- 
terable. It  w^as  as  if  the  walls  of  his  consulting-room  fell 
with  a  noise  of  the  walls  of  Jericho.  And  he  looked  out 
upon  what  he  needed,  what  he  had  always  needed,  sub- 
consciously.   But  he  could  not  take  it  yet. 

In  the  train  he  slept  but  little.  Early  in  the  morning  he 
was  up  and  dressed.  From  his  window  he  saw  the  sunrise, 
and,  for  the  first  time  was  moved  by  the  hard  w^onder  of 
barren  hills  in  an  Eastern  land.  Those  hills  on  the  left 
bank  of  the  river,  glowing  with  delicate  colours,  hills  with 
dimples  that  looked  like  dimples  in  iron,  with  outlines  that 
were  cruel  and  yet  romantic,  stirred  his  imagination  and 
made  him  again  regret  his  life.  Why  had  he  never  been 
here  before?  Why  had  he  grown  to  middle  age  encom- 
passed by  restrictions  ?  A  man  like  Starnworth  had  a  truer 
conception  of  life  than  he.  Even  now,  at  this  moment,  he 
was  not  running  quite  free.  And  then  he  thought  of  the 
Lo'ulia.  Was  he  not  really  a  man  in  pursuit?  Suppose  he 
gave  up  this  pursuit.  No  one  constrained  him  to  it.  He 
was  here  with  plenty  of  money,  entirely  independent.  If 
he  chose  to  hire  a  caravan,  to  start  away  for  the  Gold  Coast, 
there  was  no  one  to  say  him  nay.  He  could  go,  if  he  would, 
forgetting  that  in  the  woj'ld  there  were  men  who  were  sick, 


b 


364  BELLA  DONNA 

forgetting  everything  except  that  he  was  in  liberty  and  in 
a  land  where  he  was  at  home. 

And  then  he  asked  himself  whether  he  would  have  the 
power  to  forget  that  in  the  world  there  were  men  who  were 
sick.  And  he  remembered  the  words  in  a  letter  and  other 
spoken  words  of  an  acquaintance  in  an  hotel — and  he  was 
not  sure. 

The  Armines,  when  they  arrived  at  Luxor,  had  walked 
to  their  villa.  When  Isaacson  arrived  he  refused  all 
frantic  offers  of  conveyance,  and  set  out  to  walk  to  his 
hotel.  It  was  the  height  of  the  tourist  season,  and  Luxor 
was  a  centre  for  travellers.  They  swarmed,  even  at  this 
early  hour,  in  the  little  town.  When  Isaacson  reached  the 
bank  of  the  Nile  he  saw  a  floating  wharf  with  a  big 
steamer  moored  against  it,  on  which  Cook's  tourists  were 
promenading,  breakfasting,  leaning  over  the  rail,  calling 
to  and  bargaining  with  smiling  brown  people  on  the  shore. 
Beyond  were  a  smaller  mail  steamer  and  a  long  line  of 
dahabeeyahs  flying  the  Union  Jack,  the  Stars  and  Stripes, 
flags  of  France,  Spain,  and  other  countries.  Donkeys 
cantered  by,  bearing  agitated  or  exultant  sight-seers,  and 
pursued  by  shouting  donkey-boys.  Against  the  western 
shore,  flat  and  sandy,  and  melting  into  the  green  of  crops 
which,  in  their  turn,  melted  into  the  sterility  that  holds  the 
ruins  of  Thebes,  lay  more  dahabeeyahs,  the  high,  tapering 
masts  of  which  cut  sharply  the  crude,  unclouded  blue  of  a 
sky  which  announced  a  radiant  day.  Already,  at  a  little 
after  nine,  the  heat  was  very  great,  Isaacson  revelled  in  it. 
But  he  longed  to  take  a  seven-thonged  whip  and  drive  out 
the  happy  travellers.  He  longed  to  be  alone  with  the  brown 
children  of  the  Nile. 

On  the  terrace  of  the  Winter  Palace  Hotel  he  saw  at 
once  people  whom  he  Imew.  Within  the  bay  of  sand  formed 
by  its  crescent  stood  or  strolled  throngs  of  dragomans,  and 
as  he  approached,  one  of  them,  who  looked  compact  of 
cunning  and  guile,  detached  himself  from  a  group,  came  up 
to  him,  saluted,  and  said : 

**  Good-morning,  sir.    You  want  a  dahabeeyah?    I  get 


BELLA  DONNA  365 

you  a  very  good  dahabeeyali.  You  go  on  board  to-day — 
not  stay  at  the  hotel.  One  night  you  sleep.  "When  morning- 
time  come,  we  go  away  from  all  these  noisy  peoples,  we  go 
'mong  the  Egyptian  peoples.  Heeyah" — he  threw  out  a 
brown  hand  with  fingers  curling  backward — ''heeyah 
peoples  very  vulgar,  make  much  noise.  You  not  at  all 
happy  heeyah,  my  nice  gentleman!" 

The  rascal  had  read  his  thought. 

* '  What 's  your  name  ? '  * 

**  Hassan  ben  Achmed." 

**I'll  see  you  later.*' 

Isaacson  went  up  the  steps  and  into  the  great  hot^L 

When  he  had  had  a  bath  and  made  his  toilet,  he  came 
out  into  the  sun.  For  a  moment  he  stood  upon  the  terrace 
rejoicing,  soul  and  body,  in  the  radiance.  Then  he  looked 
down,  and  saw  the  long  white  teeth  of  Hassan  displayed  in  a 
smile  of  temptation  and  understanding.  Beyond  those  teeth 
was  the  river,  to  which  Hassan  was  inviting  him  in  silence. 
He  looked  at  the  tapering  masts,  and — he  hesitated.  Hassan 
showed  more  teeth. 

At  this  moment  the  lady  patient  who  had  written  to 
Isaacson  from  the  Nile  and  mentioned  Nigel  came  up  with 
exclamations  of  wonder  and  delight,  to  engage  all  his  atten- 
tion. For  nearly  an  hour  he  strolled  from  end  to  end  of 
the  crescent  and  talked  with  her.  When  at  last  she  slowly 
vanished  in  the  direction  of  the  temple  of  Luxor,  accom- 
panied by  a  villainous-looking  dragoman  who  was  ''the 
most  intelligent,  simple-minded  old  dear"  in  Upper  Egypt, 
Isaacson,  with  decision,  descended  the  steps  and  stood  on 
the  sand  by  Hassan. 

"Where's  that  dahabeeyah  you  spoke  about?"  he  said. 
* '  I  '11  go  and  have  a  look  at  her. ' ' 

That  evening,  just  before  sunset  he  went  on  board  the 
Fatma  as  proprietor. 

He  had  been  bargaining  steadily  for  some  hours,  and 
felt  weary,  though  triumphant,  as  he  stood  upon  the  upper 
deck,  with  Hassan  in  attendance,  while  the  crew  poled  off 
from  the  bank  into  the  golden  river.    Despite  the  earnest 


366  BELLA  DONNA 

solicitations  of  the  lady  patient  and  various  acquaintances 
staying  in  Luxor,  he  had  given  the  order  to  remove  to  the 
western  bank  of  the  Nile.    There  he  could  be  at  peace. 

Friends  of  his  cried  out  adieux  from  the  road  in  front 
of  the  shops  and  the  great  hotel.  Unknown  donkey-boys 
saluted.  Tourists  stood  at  gaze.  He  answered  and  looked 
back.  But  already  a  new  feeling  was  stealing  over  him; 
already  he  was  forgetting  the  turmoil  of  Luxor.  The  Reis 
stood  on  the  raised  platform  in  the  stern,  still  as  a  figure 
of  bronze,  with  the  gigantic  helm  in  his  hand.  The  huge 
sail  hung  limp  from  the  mast.  Then  there  came  a  puff  of 
wind.  Slowly  the  shore  receded.  Slowly  the  Fatma  crept 
over  the  wrinkled  gold  of  the  river  towards  the  unwrinkled 
gold  of  the  west.  And  Isaacson  stood  there,  alone  among 
his  Egyptians,  and  saw  his  first  sunset  on  the  Nile.  Over 
the  gold  from  Thebes  came  boats  going  to  the  place  he  had 
left.  And  the  boatmen  sang  the  deep  and  drowsy  chant 
that  set  the  time  for  the  oars.  Mrs.  Armine  had  often  heard 
it.  Now  Isaacson  heard  it,  and  he  thought  of  the  beating 
pulse  in  a  certain  symphony  to  which  he  had  listened  with 
Nigel,  and  of  the  beating  pulse  of  life ;  and  he  thought,  too, 
of  the  destinies  of  men  that  often  seem  so  fatal.  And  he 
sank  down  in  the  magical  wonder  of  this  old  and  golden 
world. 

*' Don't  tie  up  near  any  other  dahabeeyah.'* 

**No,  gentlemans,"  said  Hassan. 

Again  the  crew  got  out  their  poles.  Two  men  stripped, 
went  overboard  with  a  rope,  and,  running  along  the  shore, 
towed  the  Fatma  up  stream  against  the  tide  till  she  came 
to  a  lonely  place  where  two  men  were  vehemently  working 
a  shaduf.    There  they  tied  up  for  the  night. 

The  gold  was  fading.  Less  brilliant,  but  deeper  now, 
was  the  dream  of  river  and  shore,  of  the  groves  of  palms 
and  the  mountains.  Here  and  there,  far  off,  a  window, 
touched  by  a  dying  ray  of  light,  glittered  out  of  the  soft- 
ened dusk.  Isaacson  leaned  over  the  rail.  This  evening, 
after  his  long  months  of  perpetual  work  in  a  house  in 
London,  deprived  of  all  real  light,  he  felt  like  a  man  taken 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  367 

by  the  hand  and  led  into  Heaven.  Behind  him  the  naked 
fellahin,  unmindful  of  his  presence,  cried  aloud  in  the  fad- 
ing gold. 

For  a  long  while  he  stood  there  without  moving.  His 
eyes  were  attracted,  were  held,  by  a  white  house  across  the 
water.  It  stood  alone,  and  the  river  flowed  in  a  delicate 
curve  before  it  by  a  low  tangle  of  trees  or  bushes.  The 
windows  of  this  house  gleamed  fiercely  as  restless  jewels. 
At  last  he  lifted  himself  up  from  the  rail. 

**Who  lives  in  that  house?"  he  asked  of  Hassan. 

**An  English  lord,  sah.    My  Lord  Arminigel." 

''What  house  is  it?     What's  the  name?" 

''The  Villa  Androud,  my  kind  gentlemans." 

"The  Villa  Androud!" 

So  that  was  where  Armine  had  gone  for  his  honeymoon 
with  Bella  Donna!  The  windows  glittered  like  the  jewels 
many  men  had  given  to  her. 

Night  fell.  The  song  of  the  fellahin  failed.  The  stars 
came  out.  Just  where  the  Loulia  had  lain  the  Fafma  lay. 
And  under  the  stars,  on  deck,  Isaacson  dined  alone.  To- 
morrow at  dawn  he  would  start  on  his  voyage  up  river. 
He  would  foUow  where  the  Loulia  had  gone.  When  dinner 
was  finished,  he  sent  Hassan  away,  and  strolled  about  on 
the  deck  smoking  his  cigar.  Through  the  tender  darkness 
of  the  exquisite  night  the  lights  of  Luxor  shone,  and  from 
somewhere  below  them  came  a  faint  but  barbaric  sound  of 
native  music. 

To-morrow  he  would  follow  where  the  Loulia  had  gone. 

The  lady  patient  that  morning  had  been  very  com- 
municative. One  of  her  chief  joys  in  life  was  gossip.  Her 
joy  in  gossip  was  second  only  to  her  joy  in  poor  health. 
And  she  had  told  her  beloved  doctor  "all  the  news."  The 
news  of  the  Armine  menage  was  that  Nigel  Armine  had  got 
sunstroke  in  Thebes  and  been  "too  ill  for  words,"  and 
that  the  Loulia,  after  a  short  stay  near  Luxor,  had  gone  on 
up  the  Nile,  and  was  now  supposed  to  be  not  far  from  the 
temple  of  Edfou.  Not  a  soul  had  been  able  to  explore  the 
uxarvellous  boat.     Only  a  young  American  doctor,  very 


S6S  BELLA  DONNA 

susceptible  indeed  to  female  charm,  had  been  permitted  to 
set  foot  on  her  decks.  He  had  diagnosed  ' '  sunstroke, ' '  had 
prescribed  for  Nigel  Armine,  and  had  come  away  ''posi- 
tively raving"  about  Mrs.  Armine — ''silly  fellow."  Isaac- 
son would  have  liked  a  w^ord  with  him,  but  he  had  gone  to 
Assouan. 

On  the  lower  deck  the  boatmen  began  to  sing. 

Isaacson  paced  to  and  fro.  The  gentle  and  monotonous 
exercise,  now  accompanied  by  monotonous  though  ungentle 
music,  seemed  to  assist  the  movement  of  his  thought.  When 
he  left  the  garrulous  lady  patient,  he  might  have  gone  to 
the  post-office  and  telegraphed  to  the  Loulia.  It  was  pos- 
sible to  telegraph  to  Edfou.  Since  he  intended  to  leave 
Luxor  and  sail  up  the  Nile,  surely  the  natural  thing  to  do 
was  to  let  his  friend  know  of  his  coming.  Why  had  he  not 
done  the  natural  thing?  Some  instinct  had  advised  him 
against  the  completely  straightforward  action.  If  Nigel 
had  been  alone  on  the  Loulia  the  telegram  would  have  been 
sent.  That  Isaacson  knew.  But  Nigel  was  not  alone.  A 
spy  was  with  him,  she  who  had  come  to  spy  out  the  land 
when  she  had  come  to  Cleveland  Square.  Perhaps  it  was 
very  absurd,  but  the  remembrance  of  Bella  Donna  pre- 
vented Isaacson  now  from  announcing  his  presence  on  the 
Nile.  He  was  resolved  to  come  to  her  as  she  had  once 
come  to  him.  She  had  appeared  in  Cleveland  Square 
carrying  her  secret  reason  with  her.  He  would  appear  in 
the  shadow  of  the  temple  of  Horus.  And  his  secret  reason  ? 
Perhaps  he  had  none.  He  was  a  man  who  was  often  led  by 
instinct. 

And  he  trusted  very  much  in  his  instinctive  mistrust  of 
Bella  Donna. 

The  Fatma  was  no  marvellous  boat  like  the  Loulia.  She 
was  small,  poorly  furnished,  devoid  of  luxury,  and  not 
even  very  comfortable !  That  night  Isaacson  lay  on  a  mat- 
tress so  thin  that  he  felt  the  board  beneath  it.  The  water 
gurgled  close  to  him  against  the  vessel's  side.  It  seemed 
to  have  several  voices,  which  were  holding  secret  converse 
together  in  the  great  stillness  of  the  night.    For  long  he 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  369 

lay  awake  in  the  darkness.  How  different  this  darkness 
seemed  from  that  other  darkness  of  London !  He  thought 
of  the  great  temples  so  near  him,  of  the  tombs  of  the  Kings, 
of  all  those  wonders  to  see  which  men  travelled  from  the 
ends  of  the  earth.  And  he  was  sailing  at  dawn,  he  who  had 
seen  nothing !  It  seemed  a  mad  thing  to  do.  His  friends 
had  been  openly  amazed  when  he  had  been  forced  to  tell 
them  of  his  immediate  departure.  And  he  wanted,  he 
longed,  to  see  the  wonders  that  were  so  near  him  in  the 
night;  Karnak  with  its  pylons,  its  halls,  its  statues;  the 
Colossi  sitting  side  by  side  in  their  plain,  with  the  springing 
crops  about  their  feet ;  the  fallen  King  in  the  Ramesseum, 
and  that  sad  King  who  gazes  for  ever  into  the  void  beneath 
the  mountain. 

He  longed  to  see  these  things,  and  many  others  that 
were  near  him  in  the  night. 

But  he  longed  still  more  to  look  for  a  moment  into  the 
eyes  of  a  woman,  to  take  the  hand  and  gaze  at  the  face  of 
a  man.  And  he  was  glad  when,  at  dawn,  he  heard  the 
movement  of  naked  feet  and  the  murmur  of  voices  above 
his  head,  when,  presently,  the  dahabeeyah  shivered  and 
swayed,  and  the  Nile  water  spoke  in  a  new  and  more  ardent 
way  as  it  held  her  in  its  embrace. 

He  was  glad,  for  he  knew  he  was  going  towards  Edfou. 

XXXI 

Upon  a  hard  and  habitual  worker  an  unexpected  holiday 
sometimes  has  a  weakening  rather  than  a  strengthening 
effect,  in  the  first  days  of  it.  Later  may  come  from  it 
vitality  and  a  renewal  of  energy.  Just  at  first  there  steals 
over  the  worker  a  curious  lassitude.  Parts  of  him  seem 
to  lie  down  and  sleep.    Other  parts  of  him  are  dreaming. 

So  it  was  now  with  Meyer  Isaacson. 

He  got  up  from  his  Spartan  bed  feeling  alert  and  ani- 
mated. He  went  up  on  deck  full  of  curiosity  and  expecta- 
tion. But  ^s  the  day  wore  on,  the  long  day  of  golden  sun- 
shine, the  dream  of  the  Nile  took  him  slowly,  quietly,  to 

24 


370  BELLA  DONNA 

its  breast.  Strange  were  the  empty  hours  to  this  man 
whose  hours  were  generally  so  full.  And  the  solitude  was 
strange.  For  he  sent  Hassan  away,  and  sat  alone  on  the 
upper  deck — alone  save  for  the  Reis,  who,  like  a  statue, 
stood  behind  him  holding  the  mighty  helm. 

The  Fatma  travelled  slowly,  crept  upon  the  greenish- 
brown  water  almost  with  the  deliberation  of  some  monstrous 
water-insect.  For  she  journeyed  against  the  tide,  and  as 
yet  there  was  little  wind,  though  what  there  was  blew  from 
the  north.  The  crew  had  to  work  hard  in  the  burning 
sun-rays,  going  naked  upon  the  bank  and  straining  at  the 
tow-rope.  Isaacson  sat  in  a  folding  chair  and  watched  their 
toil.  For  years  he  had  not  known  the  sensation  of  watch- 
ing in  absolute  idleness  the  strenuous  exertion  of  others. 
Those  exertions  emphasized  his  inertia,  in.  which  presently 
the  mind  began  to  take  part  with  the  body.  The  Nile  is 
exquisitely  monotonous.  He  was  coming  under  its  spell. 
Far  off  and  near,  from  the  western  and  eastern  banks  of  the 
river,  he  heard  almost  perpetually  the  creaking  song  of  the 
sakeeyas,  the  water-wheels  turned  by  oxen.  They  made  the 
leit  motiv  of  this  wonderful,  idle  life.  Antique  and  drowsy, 
with  a  plaintive  drowsiness,  was  their  continual  music, 
which  very  gradually  takes  possession  of  the  lonely  voy- 
ager's soul.  The  shaduf  men,  in  their  long  lines  leading  the 
eyes  towards  the  south,  sang  to  the  almost  brazen  sky. 
And  heat  reigned  over  all. 

Was  this  pursuit?  Where  was  the  Louliaf  To  what 
secret  place  had  she  crept  against  the  repelling  tide?  It 
began  to  seem  to  Isaacson  that  he  scarcely  cared  to  know. 
He  was  forgetting  his  reason  for  coming  to  Egypt.  He 
was  forgetting  his  friend,  his  enemy;  he  was  forgetting 
everything.  The  heat  increased.  The  puffs  of  wind  died 
down.  Towards  noon  the  Reis  tied  up,  that  the  sweating 
crew  might  rest. 

A  table  was  laid  on  deck,  and  Isaacson  lunched  under 
an  awning.  When  he  had  finished  and  the  Egyptian  waiter 
had  cleared  away,  Hassan  came  to  stand  beside  his  master 
and  entertain  him  with  conversation. 


BELLA  DONNA  371 

*'Are  there  many  orange  plantations  on  the  Nile?'' 
asked  Isaacson,  presently,  looking  towards  the  bank,  which 
was  broken  just  here  and  showed  a  vista  of  trees. 

Hassan  spoke  of  Mahmoud  Baroudi.  Once  again  Isaac- 
son heard  of  him,  and  now  of  his  almost  legendary  wealth. 
Then  came  a  flood  of  gossip  in  pigeon-English.  Hamza 
was  presently  mentioned,  and  Isaacson  learnt  of  Hamza 's 
pilgrimage  to  Mecca  with  Mahmoud  Baroudi,  and  of  his 
present  service  with  *'my  Lord  Arminigel''  upon  the 
Loulia.  Isaacson  did  not  say  that  he  knew  "my  Lord." 
He  kept  his  counsel,  and  he  listened,  till  at  last  Hassan's 
volubility  seemed  exhausted.  The  crew  were  sleeping  now. 
fThere  was  no  prospect  of  immediate  departure,  and,  to 
create  a  diversion,  Hassan  suggested  a  walk  through  the 
orange  gardens  to  the  house  they  guarded  closely. 

Lazily  Isaacson  agreed.  He  and  the  guide  crossed  the 
gangway,  and  soon  disappeared  into  the  Villa  of  the  Night 
of  Gold. 

When  the  heat  grew  less,  as  the  day  was  declining, 
once  more  the  Fatma  crept  slowly  on  her  way.  She  drew 
ever  towards  the  south  with  the  deliberation  of  a  water- 
insect  which  yet  had  a  purpose  that  kept  it  on  its  journey. 

She  rounded  a  bend  of  the  Nile.    She  disappeared. 

And  all  along  the  Nile  the  sakeeyahs  lifted  up  their  old 
ind  melancholy  song.  And  the  lines  of  bending  and  calling 
brown  men  led  the  eyes  towards  the  south. 


XXXII 

On  a  morning  at  ten  o  'clock  the  Fatma  arrived  opposite 
to  Edfou,  and  Hassan  came  to  tell  his  master.  The  Loulia 
had  not  been  sighted.  Now  and  then  on  the  gleaming  river 
dahabeeyahs  had  passed,  floating  almost  broadside  and 
carried  quickly  by  the  tide.  Now  and  then  a  steamer  had 
churned  the  Nile  water  into  foam,  and  vanished,  leaving 
streaks  of  white  in  its  wake.  And  the  dream  had  returned, 
the  dream  that  was  cradled  in  gold,  and  that  was  musical 


S72  BELLA  DONNA 

with  voices  of  brown  men  and  sakeeyas,  and  that  was  shaded 
sometimes  by  palm-trees  and  watched  sometimes  by  stars. 
But  no  dahabeeyah  had  been  overtaken.  The  Fatma  trav- 
elled slowly,  often  in  an  almost  breathless  calm.  And 
Isaacson,  if  he  had  ever  wished,  no  longer  wished  her  to 
hasten.  Upon  his  sensitive  and  strongly  responsive  tem- 
perament the  Nile  had  laid  a  spell.  Never  before  had  he 
been  so  intimately  affected  by  an  environment.  Egypt  laid 
upon  him  hypnotic  hands.  Without  resistance  he  endured 
their  gentle  pressure;  without  resistance  he  yielded 
himself  to  the  will  that  flowed  mysteriously  from  them  upon 
his  spirit.  And  the  will  whispered  to  him  to  relax  his 
mind,  as  in  London  each  day  for  a  fixed  period  he  relaxed 
his  muscles — whispered  to  him  to  be  energetic,  determined, 
acquisitive  no  more,  but  to  be  very  passive  and  to  dream. 

He  did  not  land  to  visit  Esneh.  He  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  El-Kab.  Hassan  was  surprised,  inclined  to  be 
argumentative,  but  bowed  to  the  will  of  the  dreamer.  Nev- 
ertheless, when  at  last  Edfou  was  reached,  he  made  one  more 
effort  to  rouse  the  spirit  of  the  sight-seer  in  his  strangely 
inert  protector;  and  this  time,  almost  to  his  surprise, 
Isaacson  responded.  He  had  an  intense  love  of  purity  and 
of  form  in  art,  and  even  in  his  dream  he  felt  that  he  could 
not  miss  the  temple  of  Horus  at  Edfou.  But  he  forbade 
Hassan  to  accompany  him  on  his  visit.  He  was  determined 
to  go  alone,  regardless  of  the  etiquette  of  the  Nile.  He 
took  his  sun-umbrella,  slipped  his  guide-book  into  his 
pocket,  and  slowly,  almost  reluctantly,  left  the  Fatma.  At 
the  top  of  the  bank  a  donkey  was  waiting.  Before  he 
mounted  it  he  stood  for  a  moment  to  look  about  him.  His 
eyes  travelled  up-stream,  and  at  a  long  distance  off,  rising 
into  the  radiant  atmosphere  and  relieved  against  the  pierc- 
ing blue,  he  saw  the  tapering  mast  of  a  dahabeeyah.  No 
sail  was  set  on  it.  The  dahabeeyah  was  either  becalmed  or 
tied  up.  He  wondered  if  it  were  the  LouUa,  and  something 
of  his  usual  alertness  returned  to  him.  For  a  moment  he 
thought  of  calling  up  the  snarling  and  indignant  Hassan, 
whose  piercing  eyes  might  perhaps  discern  the  dahabeeyah  *s 


BELLA  DONNA  373 

identity  even  from  this  distance.  Or  he  might  go  back  to 
his  boat,  and  tell  the  men  to  get  out  their  poles  again  and 
work  her  up  the  river  till  he  could  see  for  himself.  Then, 
in  the  golden  warmth,  the  dream  settled  down  once  more 
about  him  and  upon  him.  Why  hurry?  Why  be  dis- 
turbed? The  alertness  seemed  to  fade,  to  dissolve  in  his 
mind.  He  turned  his  eyes  away  from  the  distant  mast,  he 
got  upon  the  donkey,  and  was  taken  gently  to  the  temple. 

No  tourists  were  there.  He  sent  the  donkey-boy  away, 
saying  he  would  walk  back  to  the  river.  He  knew  the 
consciousness  that  some  one  was  waiting  for  him  to  go 
would  take  the  edge  off  his  pleasure.  And  he  realized  at 
once  that  he  was  on  the  threshold  of  one  of  the  most  intense 
pleasures  of  his  life.  Allured  by  a  gift  of  money,  the  native 
guardian  consented  to  desert  him  instead  of  dogging  his 
steps.    For  the  first  time  he  stood  in  an  Egyptian  temple. 

He  remained  for  some  time  in  the  outer  court,  where 
the  golden  sunshine  fell,  attracted  by  the  sacred  darkness 
that  seemed  silently  to  be  calling  him,  but  pausing  to 
savour  his  pleasure.  Before  him  was  a  vista  of  empty 
golden  hours.  What  need  had  he  to  hurry?  Slowly  he 
approached  the  hypostyle  haU.  All  about  him  in  the  sun- 
shine swarms  of  birds  flew.  Their  vivacious  chirping  fell 
upon  ears  that  were  almost  deaf.  For  already  the  great 
silence  of  the  darkness  beyond  was  flowing  out  to  Isaacson, 
was  encompassing  him  about.  He  reached  the  threshold  and 
looked  back.  Through  the  high  and  narrow  doorway 
between  the  towers  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  native  vil- 
lage, and  his  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  upon  the  cupolas 
of  a  mosque.  Behind  him  was  a  place  of  prayer.  Before 
him  was  another  place,  which  surely  held  in  its.  arms  of 
stone  all  the  mystical  aspirations,  all  the  unuttered  long- 
ings, all  the  starry  desires  and  humble  but  passionate 
worship  of  the  men  who  had  passed  away  from  this  land 
of  the  sun,  leaving  part  of  their  truth  behind  them  to  move 
through  the  ages  of  the  souls  of  men. 

He  turned  at  last,  and  slowly,  almost  with  precaution, 
he  moved  from  the  sunlight  into  the  darkness. 


S7i>  BELLA  DONNA 

And  darkness  led  to  deeper  darkness.  Never  before  in 
any  building  had  Isaacson  felt  the  call  to  advance  so 
strongly  as  he  felt  it  now.  And  yet  he  lingered.  He  was 
forced  to  linger  by  the  perfect  beauty  of  form  w^hich  met 
him  in  this  temple.  Never  before  had  any  creation  of  man 
so  absolutely  satisfied  all  the  secret  demands  of  his  brain 
and  of  his  soul.  He  was  inundated  with  a  peace  that 
praised,  with  a  calm  that  loved  and  adored.  This  temple 
built  for  adoration  created  within  him  the  need  to  adore. 
The  perfection  of  its  form  was  like  a  perfect  prayer  offered 
spontaneously  to  Him  who  created  in  man  the  power  to 
create. 

But  though  he  lingered,  and  though  he  was  strangely  at 
peace,  the  darkness  called  him  onward,  as  the  desert  calls 
the  nomad  who  is  travelling  in  it  alone. 

He  was  drawn  by  the  innermost  darkness  of  the  sanc^. 
tuary,  the  core  of  this  house  divine  of  the  Hidden  One. 
And  he  went  on  between  the  columns,  and  up  the  delicate 
stone  approaches ;  and  though  he  was  always  drawing  near 
to  a  deeper  darkness,  and  natural  man  is  repelled  by  dark- 
ness rather  than  enticed  by  it,  he  felt  as  if  he  were  ap- 
proaching something  very  beautiful,  something  even  divine, 
something  for  which,  all  unconsciously,  he  had  long  been 
waiting  and  softly  hoping.  For  the  spell  of  the  dead  archi- 
tect was  upon  him,  and  the  Holy  of  Holies  lay  beyond — that 
chamber  with  narrow  walls  and  blue  roof,  which  contains 
an  altar  and  shrine  of  granite,  where  once  no  doubt  stood 
the  statue  of  Horus,  the  God  of  the  Sun. 

Isaacson  expected  to  find  in  this  sanctuary  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  Being  to  whom  this  noble  house  had  been 
raised.  It  seemed  to  him  that  in  this  last  myster^^  of 
beauty  and  darkness  the  God  Himself  must  dwell.  And  he 
came  into  it  softly,  with  calm  but  watchful  eyes. 

By  the  shrine,  just  before  it,  there  stood  a  white  figure. 
As  Isaacson  entered  it  moved,  as  if  disturbed  or  even 
startled.    A  dress  rustled. 

Isaacson  drew  back.  A  chill  ran  through  his  nerves. 
He  had  been  so  deep  in  contemplation,  his  mind  had  been 


BELLA  DONNA  375 

drawn  away  so  far  from  the  modern  world,  that  this  appari- 
tion of  a  woman,  doubtless  like  himself  a  tourist,  gave  him 
one  of  the  most  unpleasant  shocks  he  had  ever  endured. 
And  in  a  moment  he  felt  as  if  his  sudden  appeai'ance  had 
given  an  equally  disagreeable  shock  to  the  woman.  Look- 
ing in  the  darkness  unnaturally  tall,  she  stood  quite  still 
for  an  instant  after  her  first  abrupt  movement,  then,  with 
an  air  of  decision  that  was  forcible,  she  came  towards  him. 

Her  gait  seemed  oddly  familiar  to  Isaacson.  Directly 
she  stirred  he  was  once  more  in  complete  command  of  his 
brain.  The  chill  died  away  from  his  nerves.  The  normal 
man  in  him  started  up,  alert,  composed,  enquiring. 

The  woman  came  up  to  him  where  he  stood  at  the 
entrance  to  the  sanctuary.  Her  eyes  looked  keenly  into  his 
eyes,  as  she  was  about  to  pass  him.  Then  she  did  not  pass 
him.  She  did  not  draw  back.  She  just  stood  where  she 
was  and  looked  at  him,  looked  at  him  as  if  she  saw  what 
her  mind  told  her,  told  her  loudly,  fiercely,  she  could  not  be 
seeing,  was  not  seeing.  After  an  instant  of  this  contempla- 
tion she  shut  her  eyes. 

*'Mrs.  Armine!"  said  Meyer  Isaacson. 

When  he  spoke,  Mrs.  Armine  opened  her  eyes. 

* '  Mrs.  Armine ! "  he  repeated. 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  held  out  his  hand. 

* '  Then  it  was  the  Loulia  I  saw ! '  *  he  said. 

She  gave  him  her  hand  and  drew  it  away. 

*'You  are  in  Egypt!"  she  said. 

Although  in  the  darkness  her  walk  had  been  familiar 
to  him,  had  prepared  him  for  the  coming  up  to  him  of 
Bella  Donna,  her  voice  now  seemed  utterly  unfamiliar. 
It  was  ugly  and  grating.  He  remembered  that  in  London 
he  had  thought  her  voice  one  of  her  greatest  charms,  one 
of  her  most  perfectly  tempered  weapons.  Had  he  been 
mistaken  ?  Had  he  never  heard  it  aright  ?  Or  had  he  not 
heard  it  aright  now? 

*'What  are  you  doing  in  Egypt?"  she  said. 

Her  voice  was  ugly,  almost  hideous.  But  now  he  real- 
ized that  its  timbre  was  completely  changed  by  some  emo- 
tion which  had  for  the  moment  entire  possession  of  her. 


376  BELLA  DONNA 

**What  are  you  doing  in  Egypt?"  she  repeated. 

Isaacson  cleared  his  throat.  Afterwards  he  knew  that 
he  had  done  this  because  of  the  horrible  hoarseness  of 
Mrs.  Armine's  voice. 

**I  was  feeling  overworked,  run  down.  I  thought  I 
would  take  a  holiday.*' 

She  was  silent  for  a  minute.    Then  she  said: 

*'Did  you  let  my  husband  know  you  were  coming? 
Does  he  know  you  are  in  Egypt  ? ' ' 

In  saying  this  her  voice  became  more  ugly,  less  like  hers, 
as  if  the  emotion  that  governed  her  just  then  made  a 
crescendo,  became  more  vital  and  more  complex. 

**No.  I  left  England  unexpectedly.  A  sudden 
impulse ! ' ' 

He  was  speaking  almost  apologetically,  without  mean- 
ing to  do  so.  He  realized  this,  and  pulled  liimself  up 
sharply. 

*'I  told  no  one  of  my  plans.  I  thought  I  would  give 
Nigel  a  surprise.'' 

He  said  it  coolly,  with  quite  a  different  manner. 

*^ Nigel!"  she  said. 

Isaacson  was  aware  when  she  spoke  that  he  had  called 
his  friend  by  his  Christian  name  for  the  first  time. 

**I  thought  I  would  give  you  and  your  husband  a  sur- 
prise.   I  hope  you  forgive  me  ? " 

After  what  seemed  to  him  an  immensely  long  time  she 
answered : 

**What  is  there  to  forgive?  Everybody  comes  to  the 
Nile.    One  is  never  astonished  to  see  any  one  turn  up." 

Her  voice  this  time  was  no  longer  ugly.  It  began  to 
have  some  of  the  warm  and  the  lazy  charm  that  he  had 
found  in  it  when  he  met  her  in  London.  But  the  charm 
sounded  deliberate,  as  if  it  was  thrust  into  the  voice  by  a 
strong  effort  of  her  will. 

'*I  use  the  word  'see,'  "  she  added.  ''But  really  here 
one  can't  see  any  one  or  anything  properly.  Let  us  go 
out." 

And  she  passed  out  of  the  sanctuary  into  the  dim  but 
less  dark  hall  that  lay  beyond.    Isaacson  followed  her. 


BELLA  DONNA.  877 

In  the  slightly  stronger  light  he  looked  at  her  swiftly. 
Already  she  was  putting  up  her  hands  to  a  big  white  veil, 
which  she  had  pushed  up  over  her  large  white  hat.  Before 
it  fell,  obscuring,  though  not  concealing  her,  he  had  seen 
that  her  face  was  not  made  up  and  that  it  was  deadly  pale. 
But  that  pallor  might  be  natural.  Always  in  London  he 
had  seen  her  made  up,  and  always  made  up  white.  Possibly 
her  face,  when  unpowdered,  unpainted,  was  white,  too. 

In  the  haU  she  stood  still  once  more. 

''You  are  an  extraordinary  person,  Doctor  Isaacson," 
she  said.  *'Do  you  know  it?  I  don't  think  any  one  else 
Vv'ould  come  out  suddenly  like  this  to  a  place  where  he  had 
a  friend,  without  letting  the  friend  know.  Really,  if  it 
were  not  you,  one  might  think  it  quite  oddly  surreptitious. ' ' 

She  finished  with  a  little  laugh. 

* '  I  think  Nigel  will  be  very  much  surprised, ' '  she  added, 

''I  hope  you  don't  mean  unpleasantly  surprised?  As 
I  told  you,  I  intended " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  all  that,''  she  interrupted.  ''But 
surely,  it  seems — well,  almost  a  little  bit  unfriendly  to  be 
on  the  Nile  and  never  to  let  him  know.  And  I  suppose — 
how  long  have  you  been  in  Egypt?" 

"Oh,  a  very  short  time.  You  must  not  think  I've  de- 
layed.   On  the  contrary " 

"If  you  had  delayed,  it  would  have  been  quite  reason- 
able.   You  have  never  seen  Egypt  before,  have  you?" 

"Never." 

"How  long  were  you  at  Luxor?" 

"One  night,  on  the  boat  opposite  to  Luxor." 

"Then  what  did  you  see?" 

"Nothing  at  all." 

She  put  up  one  hand  and  pulled  gently  at  her  veil. 

"I  thought  I  would  do  all  the  sight-seeing  as  I  came 
dow^n  the  river." 

"Most  people  do  it  coming  up.  And  I  find  you  in  a 
temple. ' ' 

"It  is  the  first  I  have  entered.    I  couldn't  pass  Edfou." 
Why?" 


h 


378  BELLA  DONNA 

** Perhaps  because  I  felt  that  I  should  meet  you  in  it." 

He  spoke  now  with  the  lightness  of  an  agreeable  man  of 
the  world  paying  a  compliment  to  a  pretty  woman. 

''My  good  angel  perhaps  guided  me  into  the  Holy  of 
Holies  because  you  were — shall  I  say  dreaming  in  it?'* 

She  moved  and  walked  on. 

''Were  you  long  in  Cairo?'*  she  said. 

"One  night.'' 

She  stopped  again. 

"What  an  extraordinary  rush!"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I've  come  along  quickly." 

"I  suppose  you've  only  a  very  limited  time  to  do  it  all 
in?    You're  only  taking  a  week  or  two?" 

She  turned  her  head  towards  him,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  her  eyes  were  glittering  with  a  strange  excitement,  a 
strange  eagerness  under  her  veil. 

' '  I  don 't  know, ' '  said  Isaacson,  carelessly.  ' '  I  may  stay 
on  if  I  like  it.  The  fact  is,  Mrs.  Armine,  that  having  at 
last  taken  the  plunge  and  deserted  my  patients,  I'm  enjoy- 
ing myself  amazingly.    You've  no  idea  how -" 

"Your  patients,"  she  interrupted  him  again,  "what 
will  they  do  ?  Why,  surely  your  whole  practice  will  go  to 
pieces ! ' ' 

"It's  very  kind  of  you  to  trouble  about  that." 

' '  Oh,  I  'm  not  troubling ;  I  'm  only  wondering.  I  don 't 
know  you  very  well,  but  I  confess  I  thought  I  had  summed 
you  up." 

"Yes,  and ?" 

"And  I  thought  you  were  a  man  of  intense  ambition, 
and  a  man  who  would  rise  to  the  very  top  of  the  tree." 

"And  now?" 

"Well,  this  is  hardly  the  way  to  do  it.  I'm — I'm  quite 
sorry. ' ' 

She  said  it  very  naturally.  If  his  appearance  had 
startled  her  very  much — and  that  it  had  startled  her  almost 
terribly  he  felt  certain — she  was  now  recovering  her 
equanimity.    Her  self-possession  was  returning. 

"Women   are  very   absurd,"   she   continued.     "They 


BELLA  DONNA  379 

always  admire  the  man  who  gets  on,  who  forces  his  way 
to  the  front  of  the  crowd. ' ' 

Walking  onward  slowly  side  by  side  they  came  into 
the  great  outer  court.  Isaacson  had  forgotten  the  won- 
derful temple.  This  woman  had  the  power  to  grasp  the 
whole  of  his  attention,  to  fix  it  upon  herself. 

''Shall  we  sit  down  for  a  minute?"  she  said.  ''I'm 
quite  tired  with  walking  about." 

She  sauntered  to  a  big  block  of  stone  on  which  a  shadow 
fell,  sat  down  carelessly,  and  put  up  a  white  and  green 
sun-umbrella.  For  the  first  time  since  they  had  met 
Isaacson,  remembering  the  death  of  Lord  Harwich,  won- 
dered at  her  costume. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "youVe  heard,  of  course!" 

He  was  startled  by  her  sudden  comprehension  of  his 
thought. 

"Heard!    what,  Mrs.  Armine?" 

* '  About  my  brother-in-law 's  sudden  death. ' ' 

"I  saw  it  in  the  paper." 

"Well,  I  don't  happen  to  have  any  thin  mourning 
with  me.'' 

Her  voice  had  changed  again.  When  she  said  that  it 
was  as  hard  as  a  stone. 

Isaacson  sat  down  near  her.  His  block  of  stone  was  in 
the  sunshine. 

"Besides  what  does  it  matter  here?  And  I  never  even 
knew  Harwich,  except  by  sight." 

Isaacson  said  nothing,  and  after  a  pause  she  added : 

"So  I  can't  be  very  sorry.  But  Nigel's  been  very  much 
upset  by  it. ' ' 

"Has  he?" 

' '  Terribly.    I  dare  say  you  know  how  sensitive  he  is  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"He  couldn't  go  back  for  the  funeral.  It  was  too  far. 
He  wouldn  't  have  been  in  time. ' ' 

' '  That  was  why  he  didn  't  go  ?  " 

Again  he  saw  the  eyes  looking  keenly  at  him  from  under 
the  veil 


380  BELLA  DONNA 

' '  It  would  have  been  absolutely  no  use.  Lady  Harwich 
cabled  to  say  so." 

''I  see." 

*'She  has  always  been  against  Nigel  since  he  married 
me.    You  know  what  women  are!" 

He  nodded. 

**But  the  whole  thing  has  upset  Nigel  dreadfully. 
That's  why  we  are  up  here.  He  wanted  to  get  away,  out 
of  reach  of  everybody,  and  just  to  be  alone  with  me.  He 
hasn't  even  come  out  with  me  this  morning.  He  preferred 
to  stay  on  the  boat.  He  won't  see  a  soul  for  two  or  three 
weeks,  poor  fellow!  It's  quite  knocked  him  up,  coming 
so  suddenly." 

**I'm  sorry." 

She  turned  her  head  towards  him.  She  was  holding 
the  sun-umbrella  very  low  down. 

*'How  long  were  you  at  Luxor?"  she  asked,  carelessly. 
'*!  forget.  And  weren't  you  in  a  hotel?  Did  you  go 
straight  on  board  your  boat  ? ' ' 

*'I  went  to  the  Winter  Palace  for  a  few  hours." 

**Did  you?    And  hated  the  crowd,  I  suppose?" 

**I  didn't  exactly  love  it." 

*'You  can  imagine  poor  Nigel's  horror  of  it  under  the 
circumstances.  And  then,  you  know,  he  hasn't  been  very 
well  lately.  Nothing  of  any  importance — nothing  in  your 
line — but  he  got  a  touch  of  the  sun.  And  that,  combined 
with  this  death,  has  made  him  shrink  from  everybody.  I 
shall  try  to  persuade  him,  though,  to  see  you  later  on,  in 
two  or  three  weeks  perhaps,  when  you're  dropping  down 
the  Nile.    You'll  stay  at  the  First  Cataract,  of  course?" 

'*  Probably." 

**  That '11  be  it,  then.  As  you  come  down.  You  can 
easily  find  us.    Our  boat  is  called  the  Loulia." 

**And  so  your  husband's  had  a  touch  of  the  sun?" 

**Yes;  digging  at  Luxor.  Of  course,  I  got  in  a  doctor 
at  once,  a  charming  man — Doctor  Baring  Hartley.  Very 
clever — a  specialist  from  Boston.  He  has  the  case  in 
charge." 


BELLA  DONNA  381 

**0h,  youVe  got  liim  on  board  T' 

**No.  Nigel  wouldn't  have  any  one.  But  he  has  the 
case  in  charge,  and  has  gone  up  to  Assouan  to  meet  ua 
there.    Shall  you  run  up  to  Khartoum?'' 

*'I  may." 

*'A11  these  things  are  done  so  easily  now." 

''Yes." 

**The  railway  has  made  everything  so  simple." 

*'Yes." 

**I'd  give  worlds  to  go  to  Khartoum.  People  say  it's 
much  more  interesting  than  anything  up  to  the  First 
Cataract. ' ' 

' '  Then  why  not  go  there  ? ' ' 

** Perhaps  we  may.  But  not  just  yet.  Nigel  isn't  in  the 
mood  for  anything  of  that  kind.  Besides,  wouldn't  it  look 
almost  indecent?  Travelling  for  pleasure,  sight-seeing,  so 
soon  afterwards?  It's  a  little  dull  for  me,  of  course,  but  I 
think  Nigel's  quite  right  to  lie  low  and  see  no  one  just 
for  two  or  three  weeks. ' ' 

''May  I  light  a  cigar?" 

**0f  course." 

Rather  slowly  ^leyer  Isaacson  drew  out  his  cigar-ease, 
extracted  a  large  cigar,  struck  a  match,  and  lit  it.  His 
preoccupation  with  what  he  was  doing,  which  seemed  per- 
fectly natural,  saved  him  from  the  necessity  of  talking  for 
a  minute.    When  the  cigar  drew  thoroughly,  he  spoke  again. 

**You  don't  think" — he  spoke  slowly,  almost  lazily,  as 
if  he  were  too  content  to  care  much  either  way  about  any- 
thing under  heaven  or  earth — **you  don't  think  your  hus- 
band would  wish  to  see  me,  as  we  are  so  very  near?  We've 
known  each  other  pretty  well.  And  just  now  you  seemed 
to  fancy  he  might  almost  be  vexed  at  my  coming  out  to 
Egypt  without  letting  him  know." 

*' That's  just  it,"  she  said,  with  an  answering  laziness 
and  indifference.  ''If  he  had  been  expecting  you,  possibly 
it  mightn't  hurt  him  in  the  least  to  see  you.  But  Doctor 
Baring  Hartley  speeiariy  enjoined  on  me  to  keep  him  quite 
quiet — at  any  rate  till  we  got  to  Assouan.  Any  shock,  even 
one  of  pleasure,  must  be  avoided. ' ' 


S82  BELLA  DONNA 

** Really?  I^m  afraid  from  that  that  he  must  really  be 
pretty  bad/' 

*'0h,  no,  he  isn't.  He  looks  worse  than  he  is.  It's 
given  him  a  bad  colour,  rather,  and  he  gets  easily  tired. 
But  he  was  ever  so  much  worse  a  week  ago.  He's  picking 
up  now  every  day." 

*' That's  good." 

**He  would  go  out  digging  at  Thebes  in  the  very  heat 
of  the  day.  I  begged  him  not  to,  but  Nigel  is  a  little  bit 
wilful.    The  result  is  I  've  had  to  nurse  him. ' ' 

*  *  It 's  spoilt  your  trip,  I  'm  afraid. ' ' 

*'0h,  as  long  as  I  get  him  well  quickly,  that  doesn't 
matter. ' ' 

"It  will  seem  quite  odd  to  pass  by  him  without  giving 
him  a  call,"  said  Isaacson,  retaining  his  casual  manner 
and  lazy,  indifferent  demeanour.  ''For  I  suppose  I  shall 
pass.    You're  not  going  up  immediately?" 

"We  may.  I  don't  know  at  all.  If  he  wishes  to  go, 
we  shall  go.    I  shall  do  just  what  he  wants. ' ' 

"If  you  start  off,  then  I  shall  be  in  your  waive." 

"Yes." 

She  moved  her  umbrella  slightly  to  and  fro. 

"I  do  wish  you  could  pay  Nigel  a  visit,"  she  said. 
Then,  in  a  very  frank  and  almost  cordial  voice,  she  added, 
''Look  here,  Doctor  Isaacson,  let's  make  a  bargain.  I'll 
go  back  to  the  dahabeeyah  and  see  how  he  is,  how  he 's  feel- 
ing— sound  him,  in  fact.  If  I  think  it's  all  right,  I'U  send 
you  a  note  to  come  on  board.  If  he's  very  down,  or  dis- 
inclined for  company — even  yours — I'll  ask  you  to  give  up 
the  idea  and  just  to  put  off  your  visit  for  a  few  days,  and 
come  to  see  us  at  Assouan.  After  all,  Nigel  may  wish  to  see 
you,  and  it  might  even  do  him  good.  I'm  perhaps  over- 
anxious to  obey  doctor's  orders,  inclined  to  be  too  careful. 
Shall  we  leave  it  like  that?" 

"Thank  you  very  much." 

She  got  up,  and  so  did  he. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  "if  I  do  have  to  say  no  after  all 
— I  don't  think  I  shall — but  if  I  do,  I  know  you'll  under- 


BELLA  DONNA  383 

stand,  and  pass  us  without  disturbing  my  husband.  As  a 
doctor,  you  won't  misunderstand  me.'* 

'^ Certainly  not." 

She  pulled  at  her  veil  again. 

''Well,  then "     She  held  out  her  hand. 

* '  Oh,  but  I  '11  go  with  you  to  your  donkey, ' '  he  said.  ' '  I 
suppose  you  came  on  a  donkey  ?    Or  was  it  in  a  boat  ? ' ' 

''No;  I  rode." 

"Then  let  me  look  for  your  donkey-boy." 

"He  went  to  see  friends  in  the  village,  but  no  doubt 
he's  come  back.    I'll  find  him  easily." 

But  he  insisted  on  accompanying  her.  They  came  out  of 
the  first  court,  through  the  narrow  and  lofty  portal  upon 
which  traces  of  the  exquisite  blue-green,  the  '  *  love  colour, ' ' 
still  linger.  This  colour  makes  an  effect  that  is  akin  to  the 
effect  that  would  be  made  by  a  thin  but  intense  cry  of  joy 
rising  up  in  a  sombre  temple.  Isaacson  looked  up  at 
it.  He  thought  it  suggested  woman  as  she  ought  to  be  in 
the  life  of  a  man — something  exquisite,  delicate,  ethereal, 
touchingly  fascinating,  protected  and  held  by  strength. 
He  was  still  thinking  of  the  love  colour,  and  of  his  com- 
panion when  Hamza  stood  before  them,  still,  calm,  change- 
less as  a  bronze  in  the  brilliant  light  of  the  morning.  One 
of  his  thin  and  delicate  hands  was  laid  on  the  red  bridle  of 
a  magnificent  donkey.  He  looked  upon  them  with  his 
wonderfully  expressive  Eastern  ej^es,  which  yet  kept  all  his 
secrets. 

"What  a  marvellous  type!"  Isaacson  said,  in  French, 
to  Mrs.  Armine. 

"Hamza — yes." 

"His  name  is  Hamza?" 

She  nodded. 

"He  comes  from  Luxor.  Good-bye  again.  And  I'll 
send  you  the  note  some  time  this  morning,  or  in  the  early 
afternoon. ' ' 

With  a  quick  easy  movement,  like  that  of  a  young 
woman,  she  was  in  the  saddle,  helped  by  the  hand  of 
Hamza. 

Isaacson  heard  her  sigh  as  she  rode  away. 


384  BELLA  DONNA 


XXXIII 


Isaacson  walked  back  alone  into  the  temple.  But  the 
spell  of  the  Nile  was  broken.  He  had  been  rudely  awaked 
from  his  dream,  and  so  thoroughly  awaked  that  his  dream 
was  already  as  if  it  had  never  been.  He  was  once  more  the 
man  he  normally  was  in  London — a  man  intensely,  Jewislily 
alert,  a  man  with  a  doctor's  mind.  In  every  great  physi- 
cian there  is  hidden  a  great  detective.  It  was  a  detective 
who  now  walked  alone  in  the  temple  of  Edfou,  who  pene- 
trated presently  once  more  to  the  sombre  sanctuary,  and 
who  stayed  there  for  a  long  time,  standing  before  the 
granite  shrine  of  the  God,  listening  mentally  in  the  abso- 
lute silence  to  the  sound  of  an  ugly  voice. 

When  the  heat  of  noon  approached,  Isaacson  went  back 
to  the  Fatma.  He  did  not  know  at  all  how  long  a  time  had 
passed  since  Mrs.  Armine  had  left  him,  and  when  he  came 
on  board,  he  enquired  of  Hassan  whether  any  message  had 
come  for  him,  any  note  from  the  dahabeeyah  that  lay  over 
there  to  the  south  of  them,  drowned  in  the  quivering  gold. 

**No,  my  nice  gentlemans,"  was  the  reply,  accompanied 
by  a  glance  of  intense  curiosity. 

Questions  immediately  followed. 

''That  boat  is  the  Loulia/'  said  Isaacson,  impatiently, 
pointing  up  river. 

*'0f  course,  I  know  that,  my  gentlemans.  *  * 

Hassan's  voice  sounded  full  of  an  almost  contemptuous 
pity. 

* '  Well,  I  know  the  people  on  board  of  her.  They — one 
of  them  is  a  friend  of  mine.  That'll  do.  You  can  go  to 
the  lower  deck." 

Isaacson  began  to  pace  up  and  down.  He  pushed  back 
the  deck  chairs  to  the  rail  in  order  to  have  more  room  for 
movement.  Although  the  heat  was  becoming  intense,  and 
despite  the  marvellous  drjmess  of  the  atmosphere,  perspi- 
ration broke  out  on  his  forehead  and  cheeks,  he  could  not 
cease  from  walking.    Once  he  thought  with  amazement  of 


BELLA  DONNA  385 

his  long  and  almost  complete  inertia  since  he  had  left 
Luxor.  How  could  he  have  remained  sunk  in  a  chair  for 
liours  and  hours,  staring  at  the  moving  water  and  at  the 
monotonous  banks  of  the  Nile?  Close  to  the  Fatma  two 
shaduf  men  were  singing  and  bending,  singing  and  bending. 
And  had  the  shaduf  songs  lulled  him?  Had  they  pushed 
Aim.  towards  his  dream?  Now,  as  he  listened  to  the  brown 
men  singing,  he  heard  nothing  but  violence  in  their  voices. 
And  in  their  rhythmical  movements  only  violence  w^as  ex- 
pressed to  him.  When  lunch  came,  he  ate  it  hastily,  without 
noticing  what  he  was  eating.  Soon  after  he  had  finished, 
coffee  was  brought,  not  by  the  waiter,  but  by  Hassan,  who 
could  no  longer  suppress  another  demonstration  of  curi- 
osity. 

'  *  No  message  him  comin ',  my  nice  gentlemans. ' ' 

He  stood  gazing  at  his  master. 

**No?"  said  Isaacson,  with  a  forced  carelessness. 

''All  the  men  bin  sleepin',  the  Reis  him  ready  to  start. 
We  stop  by  the  Loulia,  and  we  take  the  message  ourself  s.  *  * 

' '  No.    I  'm  not  going  to  start  at  present.    It 's  too  hot. '  ^ 

Hassan  showed  his  long  teeth,  which  looked  like  the 
teeth  of  an  animal:    Isaacson  knew  a  protest  was  coming. 

"  I  '11  give  the  order  when  I  'm  ready  to  start.  Go  below 
to  my  cabin — in  the  chair  by  the  bed  there's  a  field-glass" 
— he  imitated  the  action  of  lifting  up  to  the  eyes,  and  look- 
ing through,  a  glass — ' '  just  bring  it  up  to  me,  will  you  ? ' ' 

Hassan  vanished,  and  returned  with  the  glass. 

''That'll  do." 

Hassan  waited. 

"You  can  go  now." 

Slowly  Hassan  went.  Not  only  his  face  but  his  whole 
body  looked  the  prey  of  an  almost  venomous  sulkiness. 
Isaacson  picked  up  the  glass,  put  it  to  his  eyes,  and  stared 
up  river.  He  saw  faintly  a  blurred  vision.  Hassan  had 
altered  the  focus.  The  sudden  gust  of  irritation  which 
shook  Isaacson  revealed  him  to  himself.  As  his  fingers 
quickly  readjusted  the  glass  to  suit  his  eyesight,  he  stood 
astonished  at  the  impetuosity  of  his  mind.  But  in  a  moment 
25 


386  BELLA  DONNA 

the  astonishment  was  gone.  He  was  but  a  gazer,  entirely 
concentrated  in  watchfulness,  sunk  as  it  were  in  searching. 

The  glass  was  a  very  powerful  one,  and  of  course  Isaac- 
son knew  it ;  nevertheless,  he  was  surprised  by  the  apparent 
nearness  of  the  Loulia  as  he  looked.  He  could  appreciate 
the  beauty  of  her  lines,  distinguish  her  colour,  the  milky 
white  picked  out  with  gold.  He  could  see  two  flags  flying, 
one  at  her  mast-head,  one  in  the  stern  of  her;  the  awning 
that  concealed  the  upper  deck.    Yes,  he  could  see  all  that. 

He  slightly  lowered  the  glass.  Now  he  was  looking 
straight  at  the  balcony  that  bayed  out  from  the  chamber 
of  the  faskeeyeh.  There  was  an  awning  above  it,  but  the 
sides  were  not  closed  in.  As  he  looked,  he  saw  a  figure, 
like  a  doll,  moving  upon  the  balcony  close  to  the  rail.  Was 
it  Mrs.  Armine  ?  Was  it  his  friend,  the  man  who  was  sick  ? 
He  gazed  with  such  intensity  that  he  felt  as  if  he  were 
making  a  severe  physical  effort.  His  eyes  began  to  ache. 
His  eyelids  tickled.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  blinked,  put  up 
the  glasses,  and  looked  again. 

This  time  he  saw  a  small  boat  detach  itself  from  the 
side  of  the  Loulia,  creep  upon  the  river  almost  impercep- 
tibly. The  doll  was  still  moving  by  the  rail.  Then,  as  the 
boat  dropped  down  the  river,  coming  towards  Isaacson, 
it  ceased  to  move. 

Isaacson  laid  down  the  glass.  As  he  did  so,  he  saw  the 
crafty  eyes  of  Hassan  watching  him  from  the  lower  deck. 
He  longed  to  give  Hassan  a  knock-down  blow,  but  he  pre- 
tended not  to  have  seen  him. 

He  sat  down  on  a  deck-chair,  out  of  range  of  Hassan's 
eyes,  and  waited  for  the  coming  of  the  messenger  of  Bella 
Donna. 

Although  his  detective's  mind  had  told  him  what  the 
message  must  be,  something  within  him,  some  other  part  of 
him,  strove  to  contradict  the  foreknowledge  of  the  detective, 
to  protest  that  till  the  message  was  actually  in  his  hands 
he  could  know  nothing  about  it.  This  protesting  somethinc: 
was  that  part  of  a  man  which  is  driven  into  activity  by  his 
secret  and  strong  desire,  a  desire  which  his  instinct  for 


BELLA  DONNA  S8T 

the  naked  truth  of  things  may  declare  to  be  vain,  but  which, 
nevertheless,  will  not  consent  to  lie  idle. 

He  secretly  longed  for  the  message  to  be  what  he 
secretly  knew  it  would  not  be. 

At  last  he  heard  the  plash  of  oars  quite  near  to  the 
Fatma  and  deep  voices  of  men  chanting,  almost  mutter- 
ing, a  monotonous  song  that  set  the  time  for  the  oars.  And 
although  it  rose  up  to  him  out  of  a  golden  world,  it  was 
like  a  chant  of  doom. 

He  did  not  move,  he  did  not  look  over  the  side.  The 
chant  died  away,  the  plash  of  the  oars  was  hushed.  There 
was  a  slight  impact.    Then  guttural  voices  spoke  together. 

A  minute  later  Hassan  came  up  the  companion,  carry- 
ing a  letter  in  his  curling  dark  fingers. 

**The  message  him  comin',  him  heeyahl" 

Isaacson  took  the  letter. 

''You  needn't  stay.'* 

Hassan  did  not  move. 

*'I  waitin'  for " 

*'Go  away!" 

Isaacson  had  never  before  spoken  so  roughly,  so  almost 
ferociously  to  a  dependant.  When  Hassan  had  gone,  fero- 
ciously Isaacson  opened  the  letter.  It  was  not  very  long,, 
and  his  eyes  seized  every  word  of  it  almost  at  a  glance — 
seized  every  word  and  conveyed  to  his  brain  the  knowledge^ 
undesired  by  him,  that  the  detective  had  been  right. 

**LouLiA,  Nile,  Wednesday. 
"Dear  Doctor, 

*  *  I  find  it  is  better  not.  When  I  came  on  board  again  I 
found  Nigel  reading  over  one  of  the  notices  of  Harwich's 
death.  I  had  begged  him  to  put  them  away,  and  not  to 
brood  over  the  inevitable.  (We  only  got  the  papers  giving 
an  account  of  Harwich  yesterday.)  But  being  so  seedy, 
poor  boy,  I  suppose  he  naturally  ti^ms  to  things  that  deepen 
depression.  I  ought  not  to  have  left  him.  But  he  insisted 
on  my  taking  a  ride  and  visiting  the  temple,  which  I  had 
never  been  in  before.     I  persuaded  him  to  put  away  th& 


SS8  BELLA  DONNA 

papers,  and  am  devoting  myself  to  cheering  him  up.  We 
play  cards  together,  and  I  make  music,  and  I  read  aloud  to 
him.  The  great  thing  is — now  that  he  has  taken  a  decided 
turn  for  the  better — not  to  excite  him  in  any  way.  Now 
you,  dear  doctor — you  mustn't  mind  my  saying  it — are 
rather  exciting.  You  have  so  much  mentality  yourself  that 
you  stir  up  one 's  mind.  I  have  always  noticed  that.  Fond 
as  he  is  of  you,  just  at  this  moment  I  fear  you  would 
exhaust  Nigel.  He  gets  hot  and  excited  so  easily  since  the 
sunstroke.  So  please  pass  us  hy  without  a  call,  and  do  be 
kind  and  wait  for  us  at  Assouan.  In  a  very  few  days  we 
shall  be  able  to  receive  you,  and  then,  when  he  is  a  little 
stronger,  you  can  be  of  the  greatest  help  to  Nigel.  Not 
as  a  doctor — ^you  see  we  have  one,  and  mustn't  leave  him; 
medical  etiquette,  you  know! — ^but  as  a  friend.  It  is  so 
delightful  to  feel  you  will  be  at  Assouan.  If  you  are  the 
least  anxious  about  your  friend,  when  you  get  to  Assouan 
ask  for  Doctor  Baring  Hartley,  if  you  like.  Cataract  Hotel. 
He  will  set  your  mind  at  rest,  as  he  has  set  mine.  It  is  only 
a  question  of  keeping  very  quiet  and  getting  up  strength. 
**  Sincerely  yours, 

**RuBY  Armine. 
**P.  S.    Don't  let  your  men  make  too  much  noise  when 
passing  us.     Nigel  sleeps  at  odd  times.     Perhaps  wiser  to 
pole  up  along  the  opposite  bank." 

Yes,  the  detective  had  been  right — of  course. 

Isaacson  read  the  letter  again,  and  this  time  slowly. 
The  handwriting  was  large,  clear,  and  determined,  but  here 
and  there  it  seemed  to  weaver,  a  word  turned  down.  He 
fancied  he  detected  signs  of 

He  read  the  postscript  four  times.  If  the  handwriting 
had  ever  wavered,  it  had  recovered  itself  in  the  postscript. 
As  he  gazed  at  it,  he  felt  as  if  he  were  looking  at  a  procla- 
mation. 

He  heard  a  sound,  almost  as  if  a  soft-footed  animal  were 
padding  towards  him. 

**My  gentlemans,  the  Noobian  peoples  waitin'  for  what 
you  say  to  the  nice  lady." 


BELLA  DONNA  389 

Isaacson  got  up  and  looked  over  the  rail. 

Below  lay  a  white  felucca  containing  two  sailors,  splen- 
didly handsome  black  men,  who  were  squatting  on  their 
haunches  and  smoking  cigarettes.  In  the  stem  of  the  boat, 
behind  a  comfortable  seat  with  a  back,  was  Hamza,  praying. 
As  Isaacson  looked  down,  the  sailors  saluted.  But  Hamza 
did  not  see  him.  Hamza  bowed  down  his  forehead  to  the 
wood,  raised  himself  up,  holding  his  hands  to  his  legs,  and 
prostrated  himself  again.  For  a  moment  Isaacson  watched 
him,  absorbed. 

''Hamza  very  good  donkey-boj^,  always  pray  in'." 

It  w^as  Hassan's  eternal  voice.  Isaacson  jerked  himself 
up  from  the  rail. 

*  *  Ask  if  the  lady  expected  an  answer, ' '  he  said.  * '  They 
don 't  speak  English,  I  suppose  ? ' ' 

*'No,  my  gentlemans.* 

He  spoke  in  Arabic.  A  sailor  replied.  Hamza  always 
prayed. 

''The  lady  him  say  p'raps  you  writin'  somethin'." 

"Very  well." 

Isaacson  sat  down,  took  a  pen  and  paper.  But  what 
should  be  his  answer?  He  read  Mrs.  Armine's  letter  again. 
She  was  Nigel's  wife,  mistress  of  Nigel's  dahabeeyah.  It 
was  impossible,  therefore,  for  him  to  insist  on  going  on 
board,  not  merely  without  an  invitation,  but  having  been 
requested  not  to  come.  And  yet,  had  she  told  Nigel  his 
friend  was  in  Egypt?  Apparently  not.  She  did  not  say 
she  had  or  she  had  not.  But  the  detective  felt  certain  she 
had  held  her  peace.  Well,  the  sailors  were  waiting,  and 
even  that  bronze  Hamza  could  not  pray  for  ever. 

Isaacson  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink,  and  wrote. 

"That's  for  the  lady,"  he  said,  giving  the  note  to 
Hassan. 

As  Hassan  went  down  the  stairs,  holding  up  his  djela- 
bieh,  Isaacson  got  up  and  looked  once  more  over  the  rail. 
His  eyes  met  the  eyes  of  Hamza.  But  Hamza  did  not 
salute  him.  Isaacson  was  not  even  certain  that  Hamza  saw 
him.    The  sailors  threw  away  the  ends  of  their  cigarettes. 


390  BELLA  DONNA 

They  bent  to  the  oars;  The  boat  shot  out  into  the  gold. 
And  once  more  Isaacson  heard  the  murmuring  chant  that 
suggested  doom.  It  diminished,  it  dwindled,  it  died  utterly 
^way.  And  always  he  leant  upon  the  rail,  and  he  watched 
the  creeping  felucca,  and  he  wished  that  he  were  in  it, 
going  to  see  his  friend. 

What  was  he  going  to  do  1 

Again  he  began  to  pace  the  deck.  It  was  not  very  far 
to  Assouan — Gebel  Silsile,  Kom  Ombos,  then  Assouan.  It 
was  some  hundred  and  ten  kilometres.  The  steamers  did  it 
in  thirteen  hours.  But  the  Fatma,  going  always  against 
*he  stream,  would  take  a  much  longer  time.  At  Assouan  he 
•could  seek  out  this  man,  Baring  Hartley. 

But  she  had  suggested  that ! 

How  entirely  he  distrusted  this  woman! 

Mrs.  Armine  and  he  were  linked  by  their  dislike.  He 
had  known  they  might  be  when  he  met  her  in  London. 
To-day  he  knew  that  they  were.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
read  her  with  an  ease  and  a  certainty  that  were  not  natural. 
And  he  knew  that  with  equal  ease  and  certainty  she  read 
him.  Their  dislike  was  as  a  sheet  of  flawless  glass  through 
which  each  looked  upon  the  other. 

He  picked  up  the  field-glass  again,  and  held  it  to  his 
eyes. 

The  felucca  was  close  to  the  Loulia  now.  And  the  doll 
tipon  the  balcony  was  once  more  moving  by  the  rail. 

He  was  certain  this  doll  was  Mrs.  Armine,  and  that  she 
was  restless  for  his  answer. 

The  tiny  boat  joined  the  dahabeeyah,  seemed  to  become 
one  with  it.  The  doll  moved  and  disappeared.  Isaacson 
put  down  the  glass. 

In  his  note  to  Mrs.  Armine,  the  note  she  was  reading 
at  that  moment,  he  had  politely  accepted  her  decision,  and 
written  that  he  would  look  out  for  them  at  Assouan.  He 
had  written  nothing  about  Doctor  Hartley,  nothing  in 
answer  to  her  postscript.  His  note  had  been  shorter  than 
hers,  rather  careless  and  perfunctory.  He  had  intended, 
when  he  was  writing  it,  to  convey  to  her  the  impression  that 


,  BELLA  DONNA  SQl 

the  whole  matter  was  a  trifle  and  that  he  took  it  lightly. 
But  he,  too,  had  put  his  postscript.    And  this  was  it  : 

**P.  S.  I  look  forward  to  a  real  acquaintance  with  yon 
at  Assouan/' 

And  now,  if  he  gave  the  word  to  the  Reis  to  untie,  to 
pole  off,  to  get  out  the  huge  oars,  and  to  cross  to  the 
western  bank  of  the  river !  Soon  they  would  be  level  with 
the  Loulia.  A  little  later  the  Loulia  would  lie  behind  thern. 
A  little  later  still,  and  she  would  be  out  of  their  sight. 

**God  knows  when  they'll  be  at  Assouan!" 

Isaacson  found  himself  saying  that.  And  he  felt  as  if, 
as  soon  as  the  Fatma  rounded  the  bend  of  the  Nile  and 
crept  out  of  sight  on  her  slow  way  southwards,  the  Loulia 
would  untie  and  drop  down  towards  the  north.  He  felt  it  ? 
He  knew  it  as  if  he  had  seen  it  happen. 

^^Hassan!'' 

When  Hassan  answered,  Isaacson  bade  him  tell  the  Reis 
that  he  and  his  men  could  rest  aU  the  afternoon. 

**I'm  going  to  Edfou  again.  I  shall  probably  spend 
some  hours  in  the  temple." 

*'IIim  very  fine  temple." 

**Yes.    I  shall  go  alone  and  on  foot.'* 

A  few  minutes  later  he  set  out.  He  gained  the  temple, 
and  stayed  in  it  a  long  time.  When  he  returned  to  the 
Fatma,  the  afternoon  was  waning.  In  the  ethereal  distance 
the  Loulia  still  lay  motionless. 

* '  We  goin '  now  ? ' '  asked  Hassan. 

Isaacson  shook  his  head. 

*'We  goin' to-night?" 

**I'll  tell  you  when  I  want  to  go.  You  needn't  keep 
asking  me  questions." 

The  dragoman  was  getting  terribly  on  Isaacson 's  nerves. 
For  a  moment  Isaacson  thought  of  dismissing  him  there 
and  then,  paying  him  handsomely  and  sending  him  ashore 
now,  on  the  instant.  The  impulse  was  strong,  but  he  re- 
sisted it.  The  fellow  might  possibly  be  useful.  Isaacson 
looked  at  him  meditatively  and  searchingly. 

*'Wh-at  can  I  doin'  for  my  gentlemans?" 


392  BELLA  DONNA 

** Nothing,  except  hold  your  tongue.'* 

Hassan  retired  indignantly. 

While  he  had  looked  at  Hassan,  Isaacson  had  considered 
a  proposition  and  rejected  it.  He  had  thought  of  sending 
the  dragoman  with  a  note  to  the  Loulia.  It  would  be 
simple  enough  to  invent  an  excuse  for  the  note.  Hassan 
might  see  Nigel — ^would  see  Nigel,  if  a  hint  were  given  him 
to  do  so.  But  he  would  no  doubt  also  see  Mrs.  Armine; 
and — if  Isaacson's  instinct  were  not  utterly  astray  in  a 
wilderness  of  absurdity  and  error — she  would  make  more 
use  of  Hassan  than  he  ever  could.  The  dragoman's  face 
bore  the  sign-manual  of  treachery  stamped  upon  it.  And 
Mrs.  Armine  would  be  more  clever  in  using  treachery  than 
Isaacson.    He  appreciated  her  talent  at  its  full  value. 

While  he  had  been  in  the  temple  of  Edfou  he  had  come 
to  a  conclusion  with  himself.  Entirely  alone  in  the  semi- 
darkness  of  the  most  perfect  building,  and  the  most  per- 
fectly calm  building,  that  he  had  ever  entered,  he  had 
Imown  his  own  calm  and  what  his  instinct  told  him  in  it. 
Had  he  not  spent  those  hours  in  Edfou,  possibly  he  might 
have  denied  the  insistent  voice  of  his  instinct.  Now  he 
would  heed  that  voice,  certain  that  it  was  no  unreasonable 
ear  that  was  listening. 

He  saw  the  tapering  mast  of  the  Loulia  against  the  thin, 
magical  gold  of  the  sky  at  sunset.  He  saw  it  against  the 
even  more  magical  primrose,  pale  green,  soft  red,  of  the 
cifter-glow.  He  saw  it  black  as  ink  in  the  livid  spasm  of 
light  that  the  falling  night  struck  away  from  the  river, 
the  land,  the  sky.    And  then  he  saw  it  no  more. 

His  sailors  began  to  sing  a  song  of  the  Nile,  sitting  in 
a  circle  around  a  bowl  that  had  been  passed  from  hand 
to  hand.    He  dined  quickly. 

Hassan  came  to  ask  if  he  might  go  ashore.  He  had 
friends  in  the  native  village,  and  wished  to  see  them. 
Isaacson  told  him  to  go.  A  minute  later,  with  a  swish  of 
skirts,  the  tall  figure  vanished  over  the  gangway  and  up 
the  bank. 

The  sailors  went  on  singing,  throwing  back  their  heads, 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  SQS 

swaying  them,  rocking  gently  to  and  fro  and  from  side  to 
side.    They  were  happy  and  intent. 

Isaacson  let  five  minutes  go  by;  then  he  followed 
Hassan's  example.  He  crossed  the  gangway,  climbed  the 
bank,  and  stood  still  on  the  flat  ground  which  dominated 
the  river. 

The  night  was  warm,  almost  lusciously  warm,  and  very 
still.  The  sky  was  absolutely  clear,  but  there  was  no  moon, 
and  the  river,  the  flats,  the  two  ranges  of  mountains  that 
keep  the  Nile,  were  possessed  by  a  gentle  darkness.  As 
Isaacson  stood  there,  he  saw  the  lights  on  the  Fatma  gleam- 
ing, he  heard  the  sad  and  tempestuous  singing  of  his  men, 
and  the  barking  of  dogs  on  hidden  houses  keeping  guard 
against  imagined  intruders.  When  he  looked  at  the  lights 
of  the  Fatma,  he  realized  how  the  boat  stood  to  him  for 
liome.  He  felt  almost  desolate  in  leaving  her  to  adventure 
forth  in  the  night. 

But  he  turned  southwards  and  looked  up-river.  Far 
pway — so  it  seemed,  now  the  night  was  come — isolated  in 
the  darkness,  was  a  pattern  of  lights.  And  high  above 
them,  apparently  hung  in  air,  there  was  a  blue  jewel. 
Isaacson  knew  it  for  a  lamp  fixed  against  the  mast  of  the 
Loulia.  He  put  his  hand  down  to  his  hip-pocket.  Teg,  his 
revolver  was  safely  there.  He  lit  a  cigar,  then,  moved  by 
an  after-thought,  threw  it  away.  Its  tip  hissed  as  it  struck 
the  river.  He  looked  at  that  blue  jewel,  at  the  diaper  of 
yellow  below  it,  and  he  set  out  upon  his  nocturnal  journey. 

At  first  he  walked  very  slowly  and  cautiously.  But 
soon  his  eyes,  which  were  exceptionally  strong-sighted,, 
became  accustomed  to  the  gloom,  and  he  could  see  his  way 
without  difficulty.  Now  and  then  he  looked  back,  rather 
as  a  man  going  into  a  tunnel  on  foot  may  look  back  to  the 
orifice  which  shows  the  light  of  day.  He  looked  back  to  his 
home.  And  each  time  it  seemed  to  have  receded  from  him. 
And  at  last  he  felt  he  was  homeless.  Then  he  looked  back 
no  more,  but  always  forward  to  the  pattern  of  light  that 
marked  where  the  Loulia  lay.  And  then — ^why  was  that  ? — ► 
he  felt  more  homeless  still.    Perhaps  he  was  possessed  by 


894  BELLA  DONNA 

the  consciousness  of  moving  towards  an  enemy.  Men  feel 
very  differently  in  darkness  and  in  light.  And  in  darkness 
their  thought  of  an  individual  sometimes  assumes  strange 
contours.  Now  Isaacson's  imagination  awoke,  and  led  his 
mind  down  paths  that  were  dim  and  eerie.  The  blue  jewel 
that  hung  in  air  seemed  like  the  cruel  eye  of  a  beautiful 
woman  that  was  watching  him  as  he  walked.  He  felt  as  if 
Bella  Donna  had  mounted  upon  a  tower  to  spy  out  his 
progress  in  the  night.  With  this  fancy  he  played  a  sort 
of  horrible  game,  until  deep  in  his  mind  a  conviction  grew 
that  Mrs.  Armine  had  actually  somehow  divined  his 
approach.  How?  Women  have  the  strangest  intuitions. 
They  know  things  that — to  speak  by  the  card — they  cannot 
know. 

Surely  Bella  Donna  was  upon  her  tower. 

He  stopped  at  the  edge  of  a  field  of  doura.  What  was 
the  use  of  going  further? 

He  looked  to  the  north,  then  turned  and  looked  to  the 
south,  comparing  the  two  distances  that  lay  between  him 
and  his  own  boat,  between  him  and  the  Loulia.  His  mind 
had  said,  '*If  I'm  nearer  to  the  Fatma  I'll  go  back;  if 
I'm  nearer  to  the  Loulia  I'll  go  on."  His  eyes,  keenly 
judging  the  distances,  told  him  he  was  nearer  to  the  Loulia 
than  to  his  own  boat.    The  die  was  cast.    He  went  on. 

Surely  Bella  Donna  knew  it,  spied  it  from  her  tower. 

Now  he  heard  he  knew  not  where,  violent  voices  of 
fellahin,  of  many  fellahin  talking,  as  it  seemed,  furiously 
in  the  darkness.  The  noise  suggested  a  crowd  roused  by 
some  strong  emotion.  It  sounded  quite  near,  but  not  close. 
Isaacson  stood  still,  listened,  tried  to  locate  it,  but  could 
not.  The  voices  rose  in  the  night,  kept  perpetually  at  a 
high,  fierce  pitch,  like  voices  of  men  in  a  frenzy.  Then 
abruptly  they  failed,  as  if  the  night,  wearied  with  their 
importunity,  had  fallen  upon  the  speakers  and  choked 
them.  And  the  silence,  broken  only  by  the  faint  rustle  of 
the  doura,  was  startling,  was  almost  dreadful. 

Isaacson  walked  more  quickly,  fixing  his  eyes  on  those 
lights  to  the  south.  As  he  drew  near  to  them,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  sort  of  cold  excitement,  cold  because  at  its 


BELLA  DONNA  395 

core  lay  apprehension.  When  lie  was  very  near  to  them 
and  could  distinguish  the  solidity  of  the  darkness  out  of 
which  they  were  shining,  he  walked  slowly,  and  then  pres- 
ently stood  still.  And  as  he  stood  still  the  Nubian  sailors 
on  the  Loulia  began  to  sing  the  song  about  Allah  which 
Mrs.  Armine  had  heard  from  the  garden  of  the  Villa 
Androud  on  her  first  evening  in  Upper  Egypt. 

First  a  solo  voice,  vehement,  strange  to  Western  ears, 
immensely  expressive,  like  the  voice  of  a  mueddin  summon- 
ing the  faithful  to  prayer,  cried  aloud,  ''Al-lah!  Al-lah! 
Al-lah!''  And  this  voice  was  accompanied  by  a  deep  and 
monotonous  murmur,  and  by  the  ground  bass  of  the  dara- 
boukkeh.    Then  the  chorus  of  male  voices  joined  in. 

As  Isaacson  stood  a  little  way  off  on  the  lonely  bank 
of  the  Nile  in  this  deserted  place — for  the  Loulia  was  tied 
up  far  from  any  village,  in  a  desolate  reach  of  the  river — 
he  thought  that  he  had  never  heard  till  now  any  music  at 
the  same  time  so  pitiless  and  so  sad,  so  cruel,  and  yet,  at 
moments,  so  full  of  a  rough  and  artless  yearning.  It 
seemed  heavy  with  the  burthen  of  fate,  of  that  from  which 
a  man  cannot  escape,  though  he  strive  with  all  his  powers 
and  cry  out  of  the  very  depths  of  his  heart. 

Like  a  great  and  sombre  cloud  the  East  settled  down 
upon  Isaacson  as  he  heard  that  song  of  the  dark  people. 
And  as  he  stood  in  the  cloud  something  within  him  re- 
sponded to  these  voices,  responded  to  the  souls  that  were 
behind  them. 

Once,  one  morning  in  London,  besieged  by  the  common- 
place, he  had  longed  for  events,  tragic,  tremendous,  hor- 
rible even,  if  only  they  were  unusual,  if  only  they  were 
such  as  would  lift  him  into  sharp  activity.  Had  that  long- 
ing resulted  in — ^now? 

He  put  out  one  lean,  dark  hand,  and  pulled  at  the 
heavily  podded  head  of  a  doura  plant.  And  the  voices 
sang  on,  and  on,  and  on. 

Suddenly,  with  a  sharp  and  cruel  abruptness,  they 
ceased. 

**A1 "  and  silence!     The  name  of  the  dark  man's 

God  was  executed  upon  their  lips. 


396  BELLA  DONNA 

Isaacson  let  go  the  podded  head  of  the  doura.  He 
waited.  Then,  as  the  deep  silence  continued,  he  went  on 
till  the  outline  of  the  big  boat  was  distinct  before  his  eyes, 
till  he  saw  that  the  blue  light  was  a  lamp  fixed  against  an 
immense  mast  that  bent  over  and  tapered  to  a  delicate 
point.  He  saw  that,  and  yet  he  still  seemed  to  see  Bella 
Donna  upon  her  tower ;  Bella  Donna,  the  eternal  spy,  whose 
beautiful  eyes  had  sought  his  secrets  between  the  walls  of 
his  consulting-room. 

Very  cautiously  he  went  now.  He  looked  warily  about 
him.  But  he  saw  no  more  upon  the  bank.  It  was  not  high 
here.  Without  a  long  descent  he  would  be  able  to  see  into 
the  chambers  of  the  Loulia,  unless  their  shutters  were 
closed  against  the  night.  It  was  strange  to  think  that  he 
was  close  to  Nigel,  and  that  Nigel  believed  him  to  be  in 
Cleveland  Square,  unless  Mrs.  Armine  had  been  frank. 
Now  he  saw  something  moving  upon  the  bank,  furtively 
creeping  towards  the  lights,  as  if  irresistibly  attracted,  and 
yet  always  afraid.  It  was  a  wretched  pariah  dog,  starving, 
and  with  its  yellow  eyes  fixed  upon  the  thing  that  con- 
tained food;  a  dog  such  as  that  which  crept  near  to  Mrs. 
Armine  as  she  sat  in  the  garden  of  the  villa,  while  Nigel, 
above  her,  watched  the  stars.  As  Isaacson  came  near  to  it, 
it  shivered  and  moved  away,  but  not  far.  Then  it  sat  down 
and  shook.    Its  ribs  were  like  the  ribs  of  a  wrecked  vessel. 

Isaacson  was  close  to  the  Loiilia  now^  He  could  see  the 
balcony  in  the  stern  where  the  doll  had  moved  by  the  rail. 
It  was  lit  by  one  electric  burner,  and  was  not  closed  in  with 
canvas,  though  there  was  a  canvas  roof  above  it.  Beyond 
it,  through  two  large  apertures,  Isaacson  could  see  more 
light  that  gleamed  in  a  room.  He  stood  still  again.  Upon 
the  balcony  he  saw  a  long  outline,  the  outline  of  a  deck- 
chair  with  a  figure  stretched  out  in  it.  As  he  saw  this  the 
silence  was  again  broken  by  music.  From  the  lighted  room 
came  the  chilly  and  modern  sound  of  a  piano. 

Then  Bella  Donna  had  come  down  from  her  tower!  Or 
had  she  never  been  there? 

Isaacson  looked  at  the  long  outline,  and  listened.    Hia 


BELLA  DONNA  S97 

mmd  was  full  of  that  other  music,  the  cry  of  Mohammed- 
anism in  the  African  night.  This  music  of  Europe  seemed 
out  of  place,  like  a  nothing  masquerading  beneath  the  stars. 
But  in  a  moment  he  listened  more  closely ;  he  moved  a  step 
nearer.  He  was  searching  in  his  memory,  was  asking  him- 
self what  that  music  expressed,  what  it  meant  to  him.  No 
longer  was  it  banal.  There  was  a  sound  in  it,  even  played 
upon  a  piano,  even  heard  in  this  night  and  this  desolate 
place  between  two  deserts,  of  the  elemental. 

Bella  Donna  was  playing  that  part  of  ''The  Dream  of 
Gerontius ' '  where  the  soul  of  man  is  dismissed  to  its  Maker. 

* ' Proficiscere,  anima  Christiana,  de  hoc  mundo!'*  (Go 
forth  upon  thy  journey.  Christian  soul!  Go  from  this 
world!) 

She  was  playing  that,  and  the  stretched  figure  in  the 
long  chair  was  listening  to  it. 

At  that  moment  Isaacson  felt  glad  that  he  had  come  to 
Sgypt — glad  in  a  new  way. 

''Go  forth     ...     go  from  this  world!'' 

Almost  he  heard  the  deep  and  irreparable  voice  of  the 
priest,  and  in  the  music  there  was  disintegration.  In  it 
the  atoms  parted.  The  temple  crumbled  to  let  the  inmate 
come  forth. 

Presently  the  music  ceased.  The  murmur  of  a  voice  was 
audible.  Then  one  of  the  oblongs  of  light  beyond  the 
balcony  was  broken  up  by  a  darkness.  And  the  darkness 
came  out,  and  bent  above  the  stretched  figure  in  the  chair. 
An  instant  later  the  electric  burner  that  gave  light  to  the 
balcony  was  extinguished.  Nigel  and  his  wife  were  together 
in  the  dimness,  with  the  lighted  room  beyond  them. 

When  the  light  was  turned  out,  the  pariah  dog  got  up 
stealthily  and  crept  much  nearer  to  the  Loulia.  Its  secret 
movement,  observed  by  Isaacson,  made  an  unpleasant  im- 
pression upon  him.  He  drew  a  parallel  between  it  and 
himself,  and  felt  himself  to  be  a  pariah,  because  of  what  h^ 
was  doing.  But  something  within  him  that  was  much 
stronger  than  his  sense  of  discretion,  and  of  "the  right 
thing'*  for  a  decently  bred  man  to  do,  had  taken  him  to  this 
place  in  the  night,  kept  him  there,  even  prompted  him  to 


898  BELLA  DONNA 

imitate  the  starving  dog,   and  to  move  nearer  to  those 
two  who  believed  themselves  isolated  in  the  dimness. 

He  was  determined  to  hear  the  voice  of  the  stretched 
figure  in  the  long  chair. 

The  light  that  issued  from  the  room  of  the  faskeeyeh 
faintly  illuminated  part  of  the  balcony.  Isaacson  heard 
the  murmuring  voice  of  Mrs.  Armine  again.  Then  one  of 
the  oblongs  was  again  obscured,  and  the  room  was  abruptly 
plunged  in  darkness.  As  Mrs.  Armine  returned,  Isaacson 
stole  down  the  shelving  bank  and  took  up  a  position  close  to 
the  last  window  of  this  room.  The  crew  and  the  servants 
were  all  forward  on  the  lower  deck,  which  was  shut  in 
closely  by  canvas.  On  the  upper  deck  of  the  boat  there 
was  no  one.  If  Mrs.  Armine  had  lingered  after  putting 
out  the  light,  she  would  perhaps  have  seen  the  figure  of  a 
man.  But  she  did  not  linger.  Isaacson  had  felt  that  she 
would  not  linger.  And  he  was  out  of  range  of  the  vision 
of  anA^  one  on  the  balcony,  although  now  so  close  to  it  that 
it  was  almost  as  if  he  stood  upon  it.  The  Nile  flowed  near 
his  feet  with  a  sucking  murmur  that  was  very  faint  in 
the  night.  There  was  no  other  sound  to  interfere  between 
him  and  the  two  voices. 

A  dress  rustled.  He  thought  of  the  sanctuary  in  the 
temple  of  Edfou.  Then  a  faint  and  strangely  toneless 
voice,  that  he  did  not  recognize,  said: 

"That's  ever  so  much  better.  I  do  hate  that  strong 
light.'' 

"But  who  is  that  in  the  chair,  then?"  Isaacson  asked 
himself,  astonished.  "Have  they  got  some  one  on  board 
with  them?" 

"Electric  light  tries  a  great  many  people." 

Isaacson  knew  the  voice  which  said  that.  It  was  Mrs. 
Armine 's  voice,  gentle,  melodious,  and  seductive.  And  he 
thought  of  the  hoarse  and  hideous  sound  which  that  morn- 
ing he  had  heard  in  the  temple. 

"Do  sit  down  by  me,"  said  the  first  voice. 

Could  it  really  be  Nigel's?  This  time  there  was  in  it 
a  sound  that  was  faintly  familiar  to  Isaacson — a  sound  to 


BELLA  DONNA  899 


which  he  listened  almost  as  a  man  may  regard  a  shadow 
and  say  to  himself,  ' '  Is  that  shadow  cast  by  my  friend  ? '  ^ 

A  dress  rustled.  And  the  tiny  noise  was  followed  by 
the  creak  of  a  basket  chair. 

** Don't  you  think  you're  a  little  better  to-night ?"  said 
Mrs.  Armine. 

The  other  sighed. 

'*No." 

**  Doctor  Baring  Hartley  said  you  would  recover 
rapidly." 

**Ruby,  he  doesn't  understand  my  case.  He  can't 
understand  it." 

''But  he  seemed  so  certain.  And  he's  got  a  great  repu- 
tation in  America." 

**But  he  doesn't  understand.  To-night  I  feel — when 
you  were  playing  '  Gerontius '  I  felt  that — ^that  I  must  soon 
go.  'Proficiscere,  anima  Christiana,  de  hoc  mundo' — I  felt 
as  if  somewhere  that  was  being  said  to  me." 

*'Nigel!" 

''It's  strange  that  I,  who've  always  loved  the  sun, 
should  be  knocked  over  by  the  sun,  isn't  it?  Strange  that 
what  one  loves  should  destroy  one!" 

<'But — ^but  that's  not  true,  Nigel.  You  are  getting 
better,  although  you  don't  think  so." 

"Ruby" — the  voice  was  almost  stern,  and  now  it  was 
more  like  the  voice  that  Isaacson  knew — "Ruby,  I'm  getting 
worse.    To-day  I  feel  that  I'm  going  to  die." 

"Let  me  telegraph  for  Doctor  Hartley.  At  dawn  to- 
morrow I  shall  send  the  boat  to  Edfou " 

"If  only  Isaacson  were  here!" 

There  was  a  silence.    Then  Mrs.  Armine  said : 

"What  could  Doctor  Isaacson  do  more  than  has  been 
done?" 

"He's  a  wonderful  man.  He  sees  what  others  don't 
Bee.    I  feel  that  he  might  find  out  what's  the  matter." 

"Find  out!  But,  Nigel,  we  know  it's  the  sun.  You 
yourself " 

"Yes,  yes!" 


400  BELLA  DONNA 

*  *  To-morrow  1 11  wire  for  Doctor  Hartley  to  come  down 
at  once  from  Assouan." 

''It's  this  awful  insomnia  that's  doing  for  me.  All 
my  life  I've  slept  so  well — ^till  now.  And  the  rheumatic 
pains :  how  can  the  sun — Ruby,  sometimes  I  think  it 's  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  sun." 

''But,  then,  what  can  it  be?  You  know  you  would 
expose  yourself,  though  I  begged  and  implored " 

"But  the  heat's  nothing  new  to  me.  For  months  in  the 
Payyum  I  worked  in  the  full  glare  of  the  sun.  And  it 
never  hurt  me." 

' '  Nigel,  it  was  the  sun.  One  may  do  a  thing  ninety-nine 
times,  and  the  hundredth  time  one  pays  for  it. '  * 

A  chair  creaked. 

"Do  you  want  to  turn,  Nigel?    Wait,  I'll  help  you." 

'  *  Isn  't  it  awful  to  lose  all  one 's  strength  like  this  ? ' ' 

"It'll  come  back.  Wait!  You're  slipping.  Let  me  put 
my  arm  behind  you." 

"Yes,  give  me  your  hand,  dearest!" 

After  a  pause  he  said: 

'  *  Poor  Ruby  1  What  a  time  for  you !  You  never  guessed 
you'd  married  a  miserable  crock,  did  you?" 

"I  haven't.  Any  one  may  get  a  sunstroke.  In  two  or 
three  weeks  you'll  be  laughing  at  all  this.  Directly  it 
passes  you'U  forget  it." 

"But  I  have  a  feeling  sometimes  that — it's  a  feeling — 
of  death." 

"When?    When?" 

"Last  night,  in  the  night.  I  felt  like  a  man  just  simply 
going  out." 

' '  I  never  ought  to  have  let  Doctor  Hartley  go.  But  you 
said  you  wanted  to  be  alone  with  me,  didn't  you,  Nigel?" 

* '  Yes.  I  felt  somehow  that  Hartley  could  be  of  no  use — 
that  no  ordinary  man  could  do  anj^thing.  I  felt  as  if  it 
were  Fate,  and  as  if  you  and  I  must  fight  it  together.  I 
felt  as  if — perhaps — our  love " 

The  voice  died  away. 


BELLA  DONNA  401 

Isaacson  clenched  his  hands,  and  moved  a  step  backward. 
The  shivering  pariah  dog  slunk  away,  fearing  a  blow. 

''What  was  that?''  Nigel  said. 

' '  Did  yon  hear  something  ? ' ' 

''Yes— a  step." 

"Oh,  it's  one  of  the  men,  no  doubt.  Shall  I  play  to  you 
a  little  more  ? ' ' 

' '  Can  you  without  putting  on  the  light  ?  I  'm  afraid  of 
the  light  now  and — and  how  I  used  to  love  it ! " 

"I'll  manage." 

"But  you'll  have  to  take  away  your  hand!  Wait  a 
minute.  Oh,  Ruby,  it's  terrible!  To-night  I  feel  like  a 
man  on  the  edge  of  an  abyss,  and  as  if,  without  a  hand,  I 
must  fall— I " 

Isaacson  heard  a  dry,  horrid  sound,  that  was  checked 
almost  at  once, 

' '  I  never — never  thought  I  should  come  to  this,  Ruby. ' ' 

"Never  mind,  dearest.    Any  one " 

"Yes — yes — I  Imow.  But  I  hate — it  isn't  like  a  man 
to Go  and  play  to  me  again. ' ' 

"I  won't  play  'Gerontius.'  It  makes  you  think  sad 
things,  dreadful  things." 

"No,  play  it  again.  It  was  on  your  piano  that  day  I 
called — in  London.    I  shall  always  associate  it  with  you." 

The  dress  rustled.     She  was  getting  up. 

Isaacson  hesitated  no  longer.  He  went  instantly  up  the 
bank.  When  he  had  reached  the  top  he  stood  still  for  a 
moment.  His  breath  came  quickly.  Below,  the  piano 
sounded.  Bella  Donna  had  not  seen  him,  had  not,  without 
seeing  him,  divined  his  presence.  He  might  go  while  she 
played,  and  she  would  never  know  he  had  been  there  eaves- 
dropping in  the  night.  No  one  would  ever  know.  And 
to-morrow,  with  the  sun,  he  could  come  back  openly,  defy- 
ing her  request.  He  could  come  back  boldly  and  ask  for  his 
friend. 

"Profieiscere,  anima  Christiana,  de  hoc  mundo!" 

He  would  come  back  and  see  the  face  that  went  with 
that    changed    voice,    that    voice    which    he    had    hardly 
recognized. 
26 


402  BELLA  DONNA 

**Go  forth  upon  thy  journey,  Christian  soul!  Go  from 
this  world!'' 

He  moved  to  go  away  to  those  far-off  lights  which 
showed  where  the  Fatma  lay,  by  Edfou. 

* '  Go  forth    ...     go  from  this  world ! ' ' 

Was  it  the  voice  of  a  priest  ?  Or  was  it  the  irreparable 
voice  of  a  woman? 

Suddenly  Isaacson  breathed  quietly.  He  unclenched  his 
hands.  A  wave — it  was  like  that — a  wave  of  strong  self- 
possession  seemed  to  inundate  him.  Now,  in  the  darkness 
on  the  bank,  a  great  doctor  stood.  And  this  doctor  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  far-off  lights  by  Edfou.  His  mission 
lay  elsewhere. 

*  *  Go  forth — ?o  forth  from  this  world ! ' ' 

He  walked  along  the  bank,  down  the  bank  to  the  gang- 
way which  connected  the  deck  of  the  Loulia  forward  with 
the  shore.  He  pushed  aside  the  dropped  canvas,  and  he 
stepped  upon  the  deck.  A  number  of  dark  eyes  gravely 
regarded  him.  Then  Hamza  detached  himself  from  the 
hooded  crowd  and  came  up  to  where  Isaacson  was  standing. 

''Give  that  card  to  your  master,  and  ask  if  I  can  see 
him.'' 

*'Yes!"  said  Hamza. 

He  went  away  with  the  card.    There  was  a  pause. 

Then  abruptly,  the  sound  of  the  piano  ceased. 


BELLA  DONNA  408 


XXXIV 

After  the  cessation  of  the  music  there  was  a  pause, 
which  seemed  to  Isaacson  almost  interminably  prolonged. 
In  it  he  felt  no  excitement.  In  a  man  of  his  type  excite- 
ment is  the  child  of  uncertainty.  Now  all  uncertainty  as 
to  what  he  meant  to  do  had  left  him.  Calm,  decided,  master 
of  himself  as  when  he  sat  in  his  consulting-room  to  receive 
the  suffering  world,  he  waited  quietly  for  the  return  of  his 
messenger.  The  many  dark  eyes  stared  solemnly  at  him, 
and  he  looked  back  at  them,  and  he  knew  that  his  eyes 
told  them  no  more  than  theirs  told  him. 

When  Hamza  went  with  the  card,  he  had  shut  behind 
him  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  which  divided  the 
rooms  on  the  Loulia  from  the  deck.  Presently  as  no  one 
came,  Isaacson  looked  at  this  door.  He  saw  above  it  the 
Arabic  inscription  which  Baroudi  had  translated  for  Mrs. 
Armine  and  he  wondered  what  it  meant.  His  eyes  were 
almost  fascinated  by  it  and  he  felt  it  must  be  significant, 
that  the  man  he  had  seen  crouching  beneath  the  black 
roof  of  the  hashish  cafe  had  set  it  there  to  be  the  motto  of 
his  wonderful  boat.  But  he  knew  no  Arabic,  and  there 
was  no  one  to  translate  the  golden  characters.  For  Ibrahim 
that  night  was  unwell,  and  was  sleeping  smothered  in  his 
haik. 

The  white  door  opened  gently,  and  Hamza  reappeared. 
He  made  a  gesture  which  invited  Isaacson  to  come  to  him. 
Isaacson  felt  that  he  consciously  braced  himself,  as  a  strong 
man  braces  himself  for  a  conflict.  Then  he  went  over  the 
deck,  down  the  shallow  steps,  and  was  led  by  Hamza  into 
the  first  saloon  of  the  Loulia,  that  room  which  Baroudi  had 
called  his  "den,'*  and  which  Mrs.  Armine  had  taken  as 
her  boudoir.     It  was  lit  up.  The  door  on  the  far  side, 


404  BELLA  DONNA 

beyond  the  dining-room,  was  shut.  And  Mrs.  Armine  was 
standing  by  the  writing-table,  holding  Isaacson's  card  in 
her  hand. 

As  soon  as  Isaacson  had  crossed  the  threshold.  Hamza 
went  out  and  shut  the  door  gently. 

Mrs.  Armine  was  dressed  in  black,  and  on  her  cheeks 
were  two  fjatches  of  vivid  red,  of  red  that  was  artificial  and 
not  well  put  on.  Isaacson  believed  that  she  had  rushed 
from  the  piano  to  make  up  her  face  when  she  had  learnt 
of  his  coming.  She  looked  towards  him  with  hard  interro- 
gation, at  the  same  time  lifting  her  hand. 

* '  Hush,  please ! ' '  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  *  *  He  doesn  't 
know  you  are  here.    He 's  asleep. ' ' 

Her  eyes  went  over  his  face  with  a  horrible  swiftness, 
and  she  added,  *'I  was  playing.  I  have  been  playing  him 
to  sleep." 

As  if  remembering,  she  held  out  her  hand  to  Isaacson. 
He  went  over  to  her  softly  and  took  it.  As  he  did  so,  she 
made  what  seemed  an  involuntary  and  almost  violent  move- 
ment to  draw  it  away,  checked  herself,  and  left  her  hand  in 
his,  setting  her  lips  together.  He  noticed  that  in  one  of 
her  eyelids  a  pulse  was  beating.  He  held  her  hand  with  a 
gentle,  an  almost  caressing  decision,  while  he  said,  imitating 
her  withdrawn  way  of  speaking : 

"I'm  afraid  my  coming  at  this  hour  has  surprised  you 
very  much.    Do  forgive  me,  but " 

''What  about  my  note?"  she  asked. 

*'May  I  sit  down?  What  marvellous  rugs!  What  an 
extraordinary  boat  this  is!" 

'*0h,  sit — ^the  divan!  Yes,  the  rugs  are  fine — of 
course." 

Hastily,  and  moving  without  her  usual  grace,  she  went 
to  the  nearest  divan.  He  followed  her.  She  sat  down,  but 
did  not  lean  back.    She  had  dropped  his  card  on  the  floor. 

*  *  You  read  my  note !    Well,  then ? ' ' 

It  seemed  to  Isaacson  that  within  his  companion  there 
was  at  this  moment  a  violent  mental  struggle  going  on  as 
to  what  course  she  should  take,  now,  immediately;  as  if 


BELLA  DONNA  405 

something  within  her  w.as  clamouring  for  defiance,  some- 
thing else  was  pleading  for  diplomacy.  He  felt  that  he  was 
close  to  an  almost  red-hot  violence,  and  wondered  intensely 
whether  it  was  going  to  have  its  way.  He  wondered,  but 
he  did  not  care.  For  he  knew  that  nothing  his  companion 
did  could  change  his  inward  decision.  And  even  in  a 
moment  that  was  like  a  black  thing  lit  up  by  tragic  fires 
he  enjoyed  his  alert  mentality,  as  an  athlete  enjoys  his 
power  to  give  a  tremendous  blow  even  if  he  has  just  seen  a 
sight  that  has  waked  in  him  horror. 

* '  Well,  then  ? ' '  she  repeated,  always  speaking  in  a  very 
low  voice,  though  not  in  a  whisper. 

A  cuckoo  clock  sounded.    She  sprang  up. 

**  That  wretched !" 

She  went  over  to  the  clock,  tore  the  little  door  in  the 
front  out,  inserted  her  fingers  in  the  opening.  There  was 
a  dry  sound  of  tearing  and  splintering.  She  came  back 
with  minute  drops  of  blood  on  her  fingers. 

**It  drives  Nigel  mad!"  she  said.  **It  ought  to  have 
been  stopped  long  ago.  You  got  my  note,  and  I  your 
answer. '  * 

**And  of  course  you  think  that  I  ought  not  to  have 
come  to-night.'* 

She  looked  at  him  and  sat  down  again.  And  by  the 
way  of  her  sitting  down  he  knew  that  she  had  come  to  a 
decision  as  to  conduct. 

* '  I  suppose  you  felt  uneasy,  and  thought  you  would  like 
to  enquire  a  little  more  of  me.    Was  that  it?*' 

' '  I  did  feel  a  little  uneasy,  I  confess. ' ' 

**How  did  you  come  to-night?" 

''I  walked." 

*' Walked?    Alone?" 

** Quite  alone." 

**A11  that  way!    I'll  send  you  back  in  the  felucca.** 

''Oh,  that  will  be  all  right." 

'*No,  no,  you  shall  have  the  felucca." 

She  touched  an  electric  bell.    Hamza  came. 
The  felucca,  Hamza." 


406  BELLA  DONNA 

''Yes.'' 

He  went. 

** They '11  get  it  ready.'' 

She  moved  some  cushions.  Isaacson  noticed  a  yellowish 
tinge  about  her  temples,  just  beyond  the  comers  of  her 
eyes  above  the  cheek-bones.  Most  of  her  face  was  not  made 
up,  though  there  were  one  or  two  dabs  of  powder  as  well 
as  the  rouge. 

*' They '11  get  it  ready  in  a  moment,"  she  repeated. 

She  turned  towards  him,  smiling  suddenly. 

**And  so  you  felt  uneasy,  and  thought  you'd  hear  a 
little  more,  and  came  at  night  so  as  not  to  startle  or  dis- 
turb him.  That  was  good  of  you.  The  fact  is,  I  didn't  tell 
him  I  had  met  you  to-day.  I  intended  to,  but  when  I  got 
here  I  gave  up  the  idea." 

''Why  was  that?" 
"He'd  been  reading  all  the  notices  about  Harwich,  and 
they'd  utterly  upset  him." 

Suddenly  she  noticed  the  tiny  drops  of  blood  on  her 
fingers. 

"Oh!  "she  said. 

She  put  her  hand  up  to  the  front  of  her  gowtx,  drcT  «•*•* 
a  handkerchief,  and  pressed  her  fingers  with  it. 

"How  stupid  of  me!" 

Hamza  appeared. 

"Ah,  the  felucca  is  ready!"  said  Mrs.  Armine. 

Isaacson  leaned  back  quietly,  and  made  himself  com- 
fortable on  the  broad  divan. 

"In  a  minute,  Hamza!"  she  said. 

Hamza  went  away. 

"That's  a  marvellous  fellow  you've  got,"  said  Isaacson. 

Although  he  spoke  almost  under  his  breath,  he  managed 
to  introduce  into  his  voice  the  quiet  sound  of  a  man  of 
the  world  very  much  at  his  ease,  and  with  a  pleasant  half- 
hour  before  him.    "I  saw  him  praying  this  afternoon." 

"Praying?" 

"Yes,  when  he  brought  your  note." 

A  look  of  horror  crept  over  her  face,  and  was  gone  in 
an  instant. 


BELLA  DONNA  407 

"Oh,  all  these  people  pray." 

She  sat  more  forward  on  the  divan,  almost  like  one  about 
to  get  up.    Isaacson  crossed  one  leg  over  the  other. 

''What  you  told  me  this  morning  did  make  me  uneasy 
about  your  husband/*  he  said,  leaving  the  Mohammedan 
world  abruptly. 

''Then  I  must  have  spoken  very  carelessly,"  she  said, 
quickly. 

"All  the  time  they  were  talking,  she  made  perpetual 
slight  movements,  and  was  never  perfectly  still. 

"Then  you  are  not  at  all  uneasy  about  his  condition?'* 

"I — I  didn't  say  that.  Naturally,  a  wife  is  a  little 
anxious  if  her  husband  has  been  ill.  But  he  is  so  much 
better  than  he  was  that  it  would  be  foolish  of  me  to  be 
upset." 

"I  confess  this  morning  you  roused  my  professional 
anxiety. ' ' 

"I  really  don't  see  why." 

"Well,  you  know,  we  doctors  become  very  alert  about 
signs  and  symptoms.  And  you  let  drop  one  or  two  words 
which  made  me  fear  that  possibly  your  husband  might  be 
worse  than  you  supposed. ' ' 

Doctor  Baring  Hartley  is  in  charge  of  the  case." 

"Well,  but  he  isn't  here!" 

*  *  He 's  coming  here  to-morrow. ' ' 

"I  understood  he  was  waiting  for  you  at  Assouan. 
You'll  forgive  me  for  venturing  to  intrude  into  this  affair, 
but  as  an  old  friend  of  your  husband " 

"Doctor  Hartley  is  at  Assouan,  but  he  will  come  down 
to-morrow  to  see  his  patient.  You  don't  seem  to  realize 
that  Assouan  is  close  by,  just  round  the  corner." 

"I  know  it  is  only  a  hundred  and  ten  kilometres  away." 

"In  a  steam  launch  or  by  train  that's  absolutely  noth- 
ing.   He'll  be  here  to-morrow." 

"Then  your  husband  feels  worse?" 

"Not  at  all." 

"But  if  you've  sent  for  Doctor  Hartley?" 

"I've  only  done  that  because  instead  of  going  up  at 


408  BELLA  DONNA 

once  to  Assouan,  as  we  had  intended,  we've  decided  t« 
remain  here  for  the  present.  Nigel  enjoys  the  quiet,  and 
I  dare  say  it's  better  for  him.  You  forget  he's  just  lost 
his  only  brother. ' ' 

''You  mean  that  I  am  wanting  in  delicacy  in  thrusting 
myself  into  your  mutual  grief?" 

He  spoke  very  simply,  very  quietly,  but  there  was  a  note 
in  his  voice  of  inflexible  determination. 

* '  I  don 't  wish  to  say  that, ' '  she  answered. 

And  her  voice  was  harder  than  his. 

**But  I'm  afraid  you  think  it.  I'll  be  frank  with  you, 
Mrs.  Armine.  Here  is  my  friend,  ill,  isolated  from  medical 
help " 

'  *  For  the  moment  only. '  * 

*' Isolated  for  the  moment  from  medical  help  in  a  very 
lonely  place " 

**My  dear  doctor!"  She  raised  her  narrow  eyebrows. 
**To  hear  you  talk,  one  would  think  we  were  at  the  end  of 
the  world  instead  of  in  the  very  midst  of  civilization  and 
people. ' ' 

''And  here,  by  chance" — he  saw  her  mouth  set  itself 
in  a  grimness  which  made  her  look  suddenly  middle- 
aged — "by  chance,  am  I,  an  old  acquaintance,  a  good 
friend,  and,  if  I  may  say  so  of  myself,  a  well-known  medical 
man.  Is  it  not  natural  if  I  come  to  see  how  the  sick  man 
is?" 

"Oh,  quite;  and  I've  told  you  how  he  is." 

"Isn't  it  natural  if  I  ask  to  see  the  sick  man  himself?" 

Her  mouth  went  suddenly  awry.  She  pressed  her  hand 
on  a  cushion.  "No,  I  don't  think  it  is  when  his  wife  asked 
you  not  to  come  to  see  him,  because  it  would  upset  him, 
and  because  he  had  specially  told  her  that  for  two  or  three 
weeks  he  wished  to  see  nobody. ' ' 

' '  Are  you  quite  sure  your  husband  wouldn  't  wish  to  see 
me?" 

"He  doesn't  wish  to  see  anybody  for  a  few  daj^s." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  that  if  ho  know  I  was  here  he 
wouldn't  wish  to  see  me?" 

"How  on  earth  can  one  be  quite  sure  of  what  other 


BELLA  DONNA  409 

people  would  think,  or  want,  if  this,  or  that,  or  the  other?" 

''Then  why  not  find  outT' 

''Find  out?'' 

' '  By  asking.  I  certainly  am  not  the  man  to  force  myself 
upon  a  friend  against  his  will.  But  I  should  be  very  much 
obliged  to  you  if  you  would  tell  your  husband  I'm  here, 
and  ask  him  whether  he  wouldn  't  like  to  see  me. ' ' 

' '  You  really  wish  me  to  wake  an  invalid  up  in  the  dead 
of  night,  just  as  he's  been  got  off  to  sleep,  in  order  to 
receive  a  visitor !    Well,  then,  I  flatly  refuse. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  if  he  is  really  asleep  ! ' ' 

*'I  told  you  that  just  before  you  arrived  I  had  been 
playing  the  piano  to  him  and  that  he  had  fallen  asleep. 
I  don 't  think  you  are  very  considerate  this  evening,  Doctor 
Isaacson." 

She  got  up. 

' '  A  doctor,  I  think,  ought  to  know  better. ' ' 

The  little  pulse  in  her  eyelid  was  beating  furiously. 

He  stood  up,  too. 

**A  doctor,"  he  said,  very  quietly,  "I  think  does  know 
better  than  one  who  is  not  a  doctor  how  to  treat  a  sick  man. 
What  you  said  to  me  in  the  temple  this  morning,  and  what 
I  heard  when  I  was  in  Cairo  and  at  Luxor  before  I  came 
up  the  river,  has  alarmed  me  about  my  friend,  and  I  must 
request  to  be  allowed  to  see  him. ' ' 

"At  Cairo  and  Luxor!  What  did  you  hear  at  Cairo 
and  Luxor?" 

*'At  Cairo  I  heard  from  a  man  that  your  husband  was 
too  ill  to  travel,  and  therefore  certainly  could  not  under 
any  circumstances  have  gone  to  England  when  he  heard  of 
his  brother's  death.  At  Luxor  from  a  woman  I  heard  very 
much  the  same  story." 

"Of  course,  and  probably  with  plenty  of  embroidery 
and  exaggeration." 

' '  Perhaps.    But  sunstroke  can  be  a  very  serious  thing. ' ' 

"I  never  heard  you  were  a  specialist  in  sunstroke." 

"And  is  Doctor  Baring  Hartley,  who  is  watching  this 
case  from  Assouan?" 


k 


410  BELLA  DONNA 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  a  minute  in  silence.  Then 
she  said: 

''Perhaps  I've  been  a  little  unjust  to-night.  I've  had  a 
good  deal  of  trouble  lately,  and  it's  upset  my  nerves.  I 
know  you  care  for  Nigel,  and  I'm  grateful  to  you  for  your 
friendly  anxiety.  But  perhaps  you  don't  realize  that 
you've  expressed  that  anxiety  in  a  way  that — well,  that  has 
seemed  to  reflect  upon  me,  upon  my  conduct,  and  any 
woman,  any  wife,  would  resent  that,  and  resent  it  keenly. ' ' 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  coldly.  "In  what  way  have  I 
reflected  upon  you?" 

"Your  words,  your  whole  manner — they  seem  to  show 
doubt  of  my  care  of  and  anxiety  about  Nigel.  I  resent 
that." 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  again,  and  again  with  almost  icy 
coldness. 

Her  lips  trembled. 

"Perhaps,  being  a  man,  you  don't  realize  how  it  hurts 
a  woman  who  has  been  through  a  nervous  strain  when  some 
one  pushes  in  from  outside  and  makes  nothing  of  all  she 
has  been  doing,  tacitly  belittles  all  her  care  and  devotion 
and  self-sacrifice,  and  tries,  or  seems  to  wish  to  try,  to 
thrust  himself  into  her  proper  place. ' ' 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Armine,  you  are  exaggerating.  I  wish  noth- 
ing of  that  kind.  All  I  wish  is  to  be  allowed  to  use  such 
medical  talent  as  God  has  given  me  in  the  service  of  your 
husband  and  my  friend." 

Her  lips  ceased  from  trembling.  "I  cannot  insult 
Doctor  Baring  Hartley  by  consenting  to  bring  is  another 
doctor  behind  his  back,"  she  said.  And  now  her  voice  was 
as  cold,  as  hard,  as  decisive  as  his  own.  "I  am  astonished 
that  you  should  be  so  utterly  indifferent  to  the  etiquette  of 
your  own  profession,"  she  added. 

* '  I  will  make  that  all  right  with  Doctor  Hartley  when  I 
get  to  Assouan." 

"There  will  be  no  need  for  that." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  are  going  to  refuse  absolutely 
to  allow  me  to  see  your  husband?" 


BELLA  DONNA  411 

'  *  I  do.  In  any  case,  you  could  not  see  him  to-night,  as 
he  is  asleep " 

She  stopped.  Through  the  silent  boat  there  went  the 
sharp,  tingling  noise  of  an  electric  bell. 

"As  he  is  asleep.*'  She  spoke  more  quickly  and 
unevenly.  *'And  to-morrow  Doctor  Hartley  will  be  here, 
and  I  shall  go  by  what  he  says.  If  he  wishes  a  consulta- 
tion  '* 

Again  the  bell  sounded.  She  frowned.  Hamza  appeared 
at  the  door  leading  from  the  deck.  He  closed  the  door 
behind  him,  crossed  the  cabin  without  noise,  opened  the 
farther  door,  and  vanished,  shutting  it  with  a  swift  gentle- 
ness that  seemed  almost  unnatural. 

' '  Then  it  will  be  a  different  matter,  and  I  shall  be  very 
glad  indeed  to  have  your  opinion.  I  know  its  value'' — 
she  looked  towards  the  door  by  which  Hamza  had  gone  out 
— * '  but  I  must  treat  Doctor  Hartley  with  proper  considera- 
tion.   And  now  I  must  say  good  night." 

Her  voice  still  hurried.    Quickly  she  held  out  her  hand. 

*'The  felucca  will  take  you  home.  And  to-morrow,  as 
soon  as  Doctor  Hartley  has  been  here  and  I  have  had  a 
talk  with  him  and  heard  what  he  thinks,  I'll  let  you  know 
all  about  it.    It's  very  good  of  you  to  bother." 

But  Isaacson  did  not  take  the  outstretched  hand. 

**Your  husband  is  awake,"  he  said,  abruptly. 

Her  hand  dropped. 

*  *  I  think,  I  'm  sure,  that  if  he  knew  I  was  here  he  would 
be  very  glad  to  see  me.  I  know  you'll  tell  him,  and  let  him 
decide  for  himself." 

''But  I'm  sure  he  is  asleep.    I  left  him  asleep." 

''That  bell " 

She  smiled. 

"Oh,  that  wasn't  Nigel!  That  was  my  French  maid. 
She's  very  glorified  here.  She  makes  Hamza  attend  upon 
her,  hand  and  foot." 

As  she  spoke,  Isaacson  remembered  the  words  in  Nigel's 
letter :  ' '  She  packed  off  her  French  maid  so  as  to  be  quite 
free." 


|H|  free 

L 


412  BELLA  DONNA 

* '  Oh,  your  maid  T '  he  said. 

And  his  voice  was  colder,  firmer. 

''Yes." 

"But  surely  it  may  have  been  your  husband  who 
rang?" 

' '  No,  I  don  *t  think  so.  I  'm.  quite  sure  not.  Once  Nigel 
gets  off  to  sleep  he  doesn't  wake  easily." 

' '  But  I  thought  he  suffered  from  insomnia ! '  * 

Directly  he  had  said  the  words,  Isaacson  realized  that 
he  had  made  a  false  step.  But  it  was  too  late  to  retrieve  it. 
She  was  upon  him  instantly. 

*'Why?"  she  said,  sharply.  "Why  should  you  think 
that?" 

*'You " 

' '  I  never  said  so !    I  never  said  a  word  of  it ! " 

She  remembered  the  steps  Nigel  had  said  he  heard  when 
they  were  together  upon  the  balcony,  and  beneath  the  rouge 
on  her  face  her  cheeks  went  grey. 

"I  never  said  a  word  of  it!"  she  reiterated,  with  her 
eyes  fastened  upon  him. 

"You  spoke  of  having  'got  him  off  to  sleep' — of  having 
'played  him  to  sleep.'  I  naturally  gathered  that  he  had 
been  sleeping  badly,  and  that  sleep  was  very  important  to 
him.    And  then  the  clock ! ' ' 

He  pointed  to  the  broken  toy  from  Switzerland. 

But  the  greyness  persisted  in  her  face.  He  knew  that 
his  attempted  explanation  was  useless.  He  knew  that  she 
had  realized  his  overhearing  of  her  conversation  with  Nigel. 
Well,  that  fact,  perhaps,  cleared  some  ground.  But  he 
would  not  show  that  he  knew. 

"Your  vexation  about  the  clock  proved  that  the  patient 
was  sleeping  badly  and  was  sensitive  to  the  least  noise." 

She  opened  her  lips  twice  as  if  to  speak,  and  shut  them 
without  saying  anything;  then,  as  if  with  a  fierce  effort, 
and  speaking  with  a  voice  that  was  hoarse  and  ugly  as 
the  voice  he  had  heard  in  the  temple,  she  said: 

"It's  very  late,  and  I'm  really  tired  out.  I  can't  talk 
any  more.     I've  told  you  that  Nigel  is  asleep  and  that  I 


B^' 


BELLA  DONNA  413 

decline  to  wake  him  for  you  or  for  any  one.  The  doctor 
who  understands  his  case,  and  whom  he  himself  has  chosen 
to  be  in  charge  of  it,  is  coming  early  to-morrow.  The 
felucca  is  there ' ' — she  put  out  her  hand  towards  the  nearest 
door — "and  will  take  you  down  the  river.  I  must  ask  you 
to  go.    I'm  tired." 

She  dropped  her  hand. 

''This  boat  is  my  house.  Doctor  Isaacson,  and  I  must 
seriously  ask  you  to  leave  it. ' ' 

''And  I  must  insist,  as  a  doctor,  on  seeing  your  hus- 
band." 

All  pretence  was  dropped  between  them.    It  was  a  fight. 

"This  is  great  impertinence,"  she  said,  "I  refuse, 
I  Ve  told  you  my  reason. ' ' 

"I  shall  stop  here  till  I  see  your  husband,"  said 
Isaacson. 

And  he  sat  down  again  very  quietly  and  deliberately  on 
the  divan. 

"And  if  you  like,  I'll  tell  you  my  reason,"  he  said. 

But  she  did  not  ask  him  what  it  was.  Through  the  sheet 
of  glass  he  looked  at  her,  and  it  was  as  if  he  saw  a  pursued 
hare  suddenly  double. 

"It's  too  utterly  absurd  all  this  argument  about  noth- 
ing," she  said,  suddenly  smiling,  and  in  her  beautiful 
voice.  "Evidently  you  have  been  the  victim  of  some  ridic- 
ulous stories  in  Cairo  or  Luxor.  Some  kind  people  have 
been  talking,  as  kind  people  talked  in  London.  And  you've 
swallowed  it  all,  as  you  swallowed  it  all  in  London.  I 
suppose  they  said  Nigel  was  dying  and  that  I  was  neglect- 
ing him,  or  some  rubbish  of  that  sort.  And  so  you,  as  a 
medical  Don  Quixote,  put  your  lance  in  rest  and  rush  to  the 
rescue.  But  you  don 't  know  Nigel  if  you  think  he  'd  thank 
you  for  doing  it." 

In  the  last  sentence  her  voice,  though  still  preserving 
its  almost  lazy  beauty,  became  faintly  sinister. 

"Nigel  knows  me  as  the  world  does  not,"  she  continued, 
quietly.  * '  And  the  one  who  treats  me  wrongly,  without  the 
espect  due  to  me  as  his  wife  will  find  he  has  lost  Nigel 
as  a  friend." 


414  BELLA  DONNA 

Isaacson  felt  like  a  man  whose  enemy  has  abruptly 
unmasked  a  battery,  and  who  faces  the  muzzles  of  formid- 
able guns. 

''You  don't  know  Nigel/' 

She  said  it  softly,  almost  reflectively,  and  with  a  little 
droop  of  the  head  she  emphasized  it. 

''You  had  better  do  what  I  ask  you  to  do,  Doctor 
Isaacson.  If  you  wish  to  do  Nigel  good,  you  had  better  not 
try  to  force  yourself  in  against  my  will  in  the  dead  of  the 
night,  when  I  'm  tired  out  and  have  begged  you  to  go.  You 
had  better  let  me  ask  Doctor  Hartley  for  a  consultation 
to-morrow,  and  tell  Nigel,  and  call  you  in.  That 's  the  best 
plan — if  you  want  to  be  nice  to  Nigel. ' ' 

She  sat  down  again  on  the  divan,  at  a  short  distance 
from  him,  and  close  to  the  door  by  which  Hamza  had  gone 
out. 

"Nigel  and  I  have  talked  this  all  over,'*  she  said,  with 
a  quiet  sweetness. 

* '  Talked  this  over  ? ' '  Isaacson  said. 

With  his  usual  quickness  of  mind  he  had  realized  the 
exact  strength  of  the  strategic  position  she  had  so  suddenly 
and  unexpectedly  taken  up.  For  the  moment  he  wished  to 
gain  time.  His  former  complete  decision  as  to  what  he 
meant  to  do  was  slightly  weakened  by  her  presentation  of 
Nigel,  the  believer.  From  his  knowledge  of  his  friend,  he 
appreciated  her  judgment  of  Nigel  at  its  full  value.  What 
she  had  just  said  was  true,  and  the  truth  bristled  like  a 
bayonet-point  in  the  midst  of  the  lies  by  which  it  was 
surrounded. 

' '  Talked  this  over  ?    How  can  that  be  ? ' ' 

"Very  easily.  When  two  people  love  each  other  there 
is  nothing  they  do  not  discuss — even  their  enemies." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Armine,  no  melodrama,  please!'* 

"Melodrama  or  not.  Doctor  Isaacson,  I  promise  you  it 
is  a  fact  that  my  friends  are  Nigel's  friends,  and  that  my 
enemies  would,  at  a  very  few  words  from  me,  find  that  in 
Nigel  they  had  an  enemy." 

"If  you  are  speaking  of  me,  your  husband  would  never 
be  my  enemy." 


BELLA  DONNA  415 

*'Do  you  know  why  he  never  told  you  we  were  going  to 

be  married  ? ' ' 

*'It  was  no  business  of  mine." 

**His  instinct  informed  him  that  you  mistrusted  me. 
Since  then  a  good  deal  of  time  has  passed.  A  man  who 
loves  his  wife,  and  has  proved  her  devotion  to  him,  does 
not  care  about  those  who  mistrust  and  condemn  her.  Their 
mistrust  and  condemnation  reflect  upon  him,  and  not  only 
on  his  love,  but  on  his  pride.  I  advise  you,  when  you  come 
to  Nigel  as  a  doctor,  to  come  as  my  friend,  otherwise  I 
don't  think  you'll  have  an  opportunity  of  doing  him  much 
good. ' ' 

The  cleverness  of  Isaacson,  that  cleverness  which  came 
from  the  Jewish  blood  within  him,  linked  hands  with  the 
defiant  adroitness  of  this  woman  even  to-night  and  in  the 
climax  of  suspicion.  Why,  with  her  powers,  had  she  made 
such  a  tragic  mess  of  her  life  ?  Why,  with  her  powers,  had 
she  never  been  able  to  run  straight  along  the  way  that 
leads  to  happiness  ?  Useless  questions !  Their  answer  must 
be  sought  for  far  down  in  the  secret  depths  of  character. 
And  now  ? 

* '  If  you  come  to  Nigel  when  I  call  you  in  it  will  be  all 
right,  not  otherwise,  believe  me.'* 

She  sat  back  on  the  divan.  The  greyness  had  gone  out 
of  her  face.  She  looked  now  at  her  ease.  Isaacson  remem- 
bered how  this  woman  had  got  the  better  of  him  in  London, 
how  she  had  looked  as  she  stood  in  her  room  at  the  Savoy, 
when  he  saw  her  for  the  last  time  before  she  married  his 
friend.  She  had  been  dressed  in  rose  colour  that  day. 
Now  she  was  in  black — for  Harwich.  It  seemed  that  for 
evening  wear  she  had  brought  some  ' '  thin  mourning. ' '  Did 
he  mean  her  to  get  the  better  of  him  again  ? 

*'But  you  wiU  not  call  me  in,"  he  said  bluntly. 

'*Why  not?    As  a  doctor  I  rather  believe  in  you." 

** Nevertheless,  you  will  not  call  me  in." 

'*If  Doctor  Hartley  desires  a  consultation,  I  promise 
you  that  I  will.  I  hope  you  won 't  make  your  fee  too  heavy. 
I^frou  must  remember  we  are  almost  poor  people  now." 


416  BELLA  DONNA 

It  was  very  seldom  that  Isaacson  changed  colour,  but 
at  these  words  his  dark  face  slowly  reddened. 

''If  you  suppose  that — that  I  want  to  make  money '^ 

he  began. 

''It's  always  nice,  if  one  takes  a  holiday,  to  be  able  to 
pay  one's  expenses.  But  I  know  you  won't  run  Nigel  in 
for  too  much. ' ' 

Isaacson  got  up.  His  instinct  was  to  go,  to  get  away  at 
once  from  this  woman.  For  a  moment  he  forgot  the  voice 
he  had  heard  in  the  night ;  he  forgot  the  words  it  had  said. 
His  egoism  and  his  pride  spoke,  and  told  him  to  get  away. 

She  read  him.  She  got  up,  too,  came  away  from  her 
place  near  the  door,  and  said,  with  a  smile : 

"You  are  going?" 

He  looked  at  her.  He  saw  in  her  eyes  the  look  he  had 
seen  in  them  when  he  had  bade  her  good-bye  at  the  Savoy 
after  his  useless  embassy. 

"You  are  going?" 

* '  Yes, ' '  he  said.    * '  I  am !    Going  to  see  your  husband ! ' ' 

And  before  she  could  speak  or  move,  he  was  at  the 
door  through  which  Hamza  had  passed;  he  had  opened  it 
and  disappeared,  shutting  it  softly  behind  him. 


XXXV 

With  such  abrupt  and  adroit  decisiveness  had  Meyer 
Isaacson  acted,  so  swift  and  cunning  had  been  his  physical 
carrying  out  of  his  sudden  resolve — a  resolve,  perhaps, 
determined  by  her  frigid  malice — that  for  a  moment  Mrs. 
Armine  lost  all  command  of  her  powers — even,  so  it  seemed, 
all  command  of  her  thoughts  and  desires.  When  the  door 
shut  and  she  was  alone,  she  stood  where  she  was  and  at 
first  did  not  move  a  finger.  She  felt  dull,  unexcited,  almost 
sleepy,  and  as  one  who  is  dropping  off  to  sleep  sometimes 
aimlessly  reiterates  some  thought,  apparently  unconnected 
with  any  other  thought,  unlinked  Avith  any  habit  of  the 
mind,  she  found  herself,  in  imagination,  with  dull  eyes,  see- 


BELLA  DONNA  4ir 

ing  the  Arabic  characters  above  the  doorway  of  the  Loulia,. 
dully  and  silently  repeating  the  words  Baroudi  had  chosen. 
as  the  motto  of  the  boat  in  which  this  thing — Isaacson's 
departure  to  Nigel — had  happened : 

''The  fate  of  every  man  have  we  bound  about  his  neck.'* 
So  it  was.  So  it  must  be.  With  an  odd  and  almost 
grotesque  physical  response  to  the  meaning  which  at  this 
moment  she  but  vaguely  apprehended,  she  let  her  body 
go.  She  shrank  a  little,  dra^ving  her  shoulders  forward, 
like  one  on  whom  a  burden  that  is  heavy  is  imposed.  About 
her  neck  had  been  bound  this  fate.  But  the  movement,, 
slight  though  it  was,  recalled  the  woman  who  had  defied 
and  had  bled  the  world — had  defied  the  world  of  women, 
and  had  bled  the  world  of  men.  And,  like  a  living  thing,, 
there  sprang  up  in  her  mind  the  thought: 
*'I'm  the  only  woman  on  board  this  boat.'* 
And  she  squared  her  shoulders.  The  numbness  passed, 
or  she  flung  it  angrily  from  her.  And  she  had  the  door 
open  and  was  through  the  doorway  in  an  instant,  and 
crying  out  in  the  long  corridor  that  led  to  the  room  of 
the  faskeeyeh: 

*' Nigel!  Nigel!  What  do  you  think  of  my  surprise?*' 
There  were  energy  and  beauty  in  the  cry,  and  she  came 
into  the  room  with  a  sort  of  soft  rush  that  was  intensely 
feminine.  The  men  were  there.  Nigel  was  sitting  up,  but 
leaning  against  cushions  on  the  divan  close  to  the  upright 
piano,  on  which  stood  the  score  of  ' '  Gerontius.  *  *  Isaacson 
was  standing  before  him,  bending,  and  holding  both  his 
hands  strongly,  in  an  attitude  that  looked  almost  violent. 
Behind  him,  in  the  Eastern  house  of  Baroudi  the  spray  of 
the  little  fountain  aspired,  and  the  tiny  gilded  ball  rose 
and  fell  with  an  airy  and  frivolous  movement. 

Mrs.  Armine  was  not  reasoning  as  she  came  in  to  these 
two.  She  was  acting  purely  on  the  prompting  of  an  instinct 
long  proved  by  life.  There  was  within  her  no  mental 
debate.  She  did  not  know  how  long  she  had  stood  alone. 
She  did  not  ask  herself  whether  Meyer  Isaacson  had  had 
time  to  say  anything,  or,  if  he  had  had  time,  what  it  was- 

27 


418  BELLA  DONNA 

likely  that  he  had  said.  She  just  came  in  with  this  soft 
rush,  went  to  her  husband,  sat  down  touching  him,  put  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  with  the  fingers  upon  his  neck,  and 
said: 

'  *  What  do  you  think  of  my  surprise  ?  I  dared  it !  Was 
I  wrong  ?    Has  it  done  you  any  harm,  Nigel  ? ' ' 

As  she  spoke  she  looked  at  the  face  of  Isaacson  and 
she  knew  that  he  had  not  spoken.  A  natural  flush  came  to 
join  the  flush  of  rouge  on  her  cheeks. 

*' Nigel,  you've  got  to  forgive  me!''  she  said. 

** Forgive  you!" 

The  weak  voice  spoke  with  a  stronger  note  than  it  had 
found  on  the  balcony.  Isaacson  let  go  his  friend's  hands. 
He  moved.  The  almost  emotional  protectiveness  that  had 
seemed  mutely  to  exclaim,  ' '  I  '11  save  you !  Here 's  a  hand — 
here  are  two  strong  hands — to  save  you  from  the  abyss!" 
died  out  of  his  attitude.  He  stood  up  straight.  But  he 
kept  his  eyes  fastened  on  his  friend.  Never  in  his  consult- 
ing-room had  he  looked  at  any  patient  as  he  now  looked  at 
Nigel  Armine,  with  such  fiercely  searching  eyes.  His  face 
said  to  the  leaning  man  before  him:  **Give  up  your  secrets. 
I  mean  to  know  them  all." 

' '  Forgive  you ! ' '  Nigel  repeated. 

Feebly  he  put  out  one  hand  and  touched  his  wife.  He 
was  looking  almost  dazed. 

*'And  to-night,  when  I — when  I  said,  'If  only  Isaacson 
were  here!'  did  you  know  then?" 

*  *  That  he  was  coming  ?  Yes,  I  knew.  And  I  nearly  had 
to  tell  you — so  nearly !  But,  you  see,  a  woman  can  keep  a 
secret." 

''How  did  you  know?" 

He  looked  at  Isaacson.  But  Isaacson  let  her  answer. 
It  was  enough  for  him  that  he  was  with  his  friend.  He 
did  not  care  about  anything  else.  And  all  this  time  he  was 
at  doctor's  work. 

"We  met  this  morning  in  the  temple  of  Edfou,  and  I 
told  Doctor  Isaacson  about  your  sunstroke,  and  asked  him 
to  come  up  to-night  and  see  you." 


BELLA  DONNA  41^ 

She  lied  with  the  quiet  aplomb  which  Isaacson  remem- 
bered almost  enjoying  in  the  Savoy  Restaurant  one  night, 
when  they  were  grouped  about  a  supper-table.  Quietly 
then  she  had  handed  him  out  the  lies  which  he  knew  to  be 
lies.  She  had  made  him  presents  of  them,  and  as  he  had 
received  her  presents  then,  he  received  them  now,  but  a 
little  more  indifferently.  For  he  was  deeply  attentive  to 
Nigel. 

That  colour,  that  dropped  wrist,  the  cruel  emaciation, 
the  tremulous  hands,  the  pathetic  eyes  that  seemed  crying 
for  help — what  did  they  indicate?  And  there  were  other 
symptoms,  even  stronger,  in  Nigel  that  already  had  almost 
assailed  the  doctor,  as  if  clamouring  for  his  notice  and 
striving  to  tell  a  story. 

*  *  But  why  are  you  here,  in  Egypt  ? ' '  asked  Nigel.  *  *  You 
didn't  come  out  because V 

*'No,  no,''  said  Isaacson. 

**But  then" — a  smile  that  was  rather  like  tears  came 
into  the  sick  man's  face — **but  then  perhaps  you  came  to 
' — to  see  our  happiness!    You  remember  my  letter.  Ruby?" 

''Yes,"  she  said. 

His  hand  still  lay  on  hers. 

''Well,  since  then  it's  been  a  bad  time  for  me.  But  that 
happiness  has  never  failed  me — never." 

"And  it  never  shall,"  she  said. 

As  she  spoke  she  looked  up  again  at  Isaacson,  and  he 
read  a  cool  menace  in  her  eyes.  Those  eyes  repeated  what 
her  voice  had  told  him  on  the  other  side  of  that  door.  They 
said:  *'My  enemy  can  never  find  a  friend  in  my  husband."^ 
But  now  that  Isaacson  saw  these  two  people  together,  he 
realized  the  truth  of  their  relations  as  words  could  never 
have  made  him  realize  them. 

There  was  a  little  silence,  broken  only  by  the  tiny 
whisper  of  the  f  askeeyeh.    Then  Mrs.  Armine  said  gently : 

"Now,  Nigel,  you've  had  your  surprise,  and  you  ought 
to  sleep.  Doctor  Isaacson 's  coming  back  to-morrow  to  have 
a  consultation  with  Doctor  Hartley  at  four  o'clock." 

She  spoke  as  if  the  whole  matter  were  already  arranged. 


420  BELLA  DONNA 

"Sleep!  You  know  I  can't  sleep.  I  never  can  sleef. 
now/' 

* '  Is  the  insomnia  very  bad  ? ' '  asked  Isaacson,  quietly. 

**I  never  can  sleep  scarcely.    The  nights  are  so  awful." 

"Yes,  Nigel,  dearest.  But  to-night  I  think  you  will 
sleep. ' ' 

'*  Why  to-night  r' 

**  Because  of  this  happy  surprise  I  arranged  for  you. 
But  I  shall  be  sorry  I  arranged  it  if  you  get  excited.  Do 
you  know  how  late  it  is?  It  is  past  eleven.  You  must  let 
Doctor  Isaacson  go  to  the  felucca.  Our  bargain  was  that 
to-night  he  should  not  attempt  to  hear  all  about  you  or 
enter  into  the  case.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  Doctor 
Hartley." 

*'Damn  Doctor  Hartley!"  murmured  the  sick  man, 
almost  peevishly. 

* '  1  know.  But  we  must  behave  nicely  to  him.  Be  good 
now,  and  go  to  bed.  I  have  told  Doctor  Isaacson  a  lot,  and 
I  know  you'll  sleep  now  you  can  feel  he's  near  you." 

**I  don't  want  anything  more  to  do  with  Hartley.  He 
knows  nothing.    I  won't  have  him  to-morrow." 

He  spoke  crossly. 

*'Nigel!" 

She  put  her  hand  upon  his. 

** Forgive  me,  dearest!    Oh,  what  a  brute  I  am!" 

Tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

**I  martyrize  her,  I  know  I  do,"  he  said  to  Isaacson; 
'*but  I  don't  believe  it's  my  fault.  I  do  feel  so  awfully 
ill!" 

His  head  drooped.  Isaacson  felt  his  pulse.  Nigel  gazed 
down  at  the  divan,  staring  with  eyes  that  had  become  filmy. 
Mrs.  Armine  looked  at  Isaacson,  and  he,  with  a  doctor's 
memory  that  was  combined  with  the  memory  of  a  man  who 
had  formerly  been  conquered,  compared  this  poor  pulse  that 
fluttered  beneath  his  sensitive  fingers  with  another  pulse 
which  once  he  had  felt  beating  strongly — a  pulse  which  had 
made  him  understand  the  defiance  of  a  life. 

**You  had  better  get  to  bed,"  he  said  to  Nigel,  letting  his 


BELLA  DONNA  421 

Wrist  go,  and  watching  it  sharply  as  it  dropped  to  the 
cushions.    *  *  I  shall  give  you  something  to  make  you  sleep. '  * 

Mrs.  Armine  opened  her  lips,  but  this  time  he  sent  her 
a  look  which  caused  her  to  shut  them. 

*  *  I  don 't  know  whether  you  are  in  the  habit  of  taking  any- 
thing— whether  you  are  given  anything  at  night.  If  so, 
to-night  it  is  to  be  discontinued.  You  are  to  touch  nothing 
except  what  I  am  going  to  give  you.  Directly  you  are  in 
bed  I'll  come.*' 

*'But ''  Nigel  began,  ''we  haven't " 

''Had  any  talk.  I  know.  There'll  be  plenty  of  time 
for  that.  But  Mrs.  Armine  is  quite  right.  It  is  late,  and 
you  must  go  at  once  to  bed.*' 

Nigel  made  a  movement  to  get  up.  Mrs.  Armine  quickly 
and  efficiently  helped  him,  put  her  arm  around  him,  sup- 
ported his  arm,  led  him  away  into  the  narrow  corridor 
from  which  the  bedrooms  opened.  They  disappeared 
through  a  little  doorway  on  the  left. 

Then  Isaacson  sat  down  and  waited,  looking  at  the  leap- 
ing spray  and  at  the  gilded  trifle  that  was  its  captive. 
Presently  his  eyes  travelled  away  from  that,  and  examined 
the  room  and  everji;hing  in  it.  That  man  whom  he  had  seen 
driving  the  Russian  horses,  and  squatting  on  the  floor  of 
the  hashish  cafe,  might  well  be  at  home  here.  And  he  him- 
self— could  not  he  be  at  home  here,  with  these  marvellous 
prayer-rugs  and  embroideries,  into  which  was  surely  woven 
something  of  the  deep  and  eternal  enigma  of  the  East  ?  But 
his  friend  and — ^that  woman? 

Actively,  now,  he  hated  Mrs.  Armine.  He  was  a  man 
who  could  hate  well.  But  he  was  not  going  to  allow  his 
hatred  to  run  away  with  him.  Once,  in  a  silent  contest 
between  them,  he  had  been  worsted  by  her.  In  this  second 
contest  he  now  declined  to  be  worsted.  One  fall  was  enough 
for  this  man  who  was  not  accustomed  to  be  overthrown. 
If  his  temper  and  his  pride  were  his  enemies,  he  must 
hold  them  in  bondage.  She  had  struck  at  both  audaciously 
that  night.  But  the  blow,  instead  of  driving  him  away, 
had  sent  him  straight  to  the  sick  man.     That  stroke  of 


422  BELLA  DONNA 

hers  had  miscarried.  But  Isaacson  recognized  her  power 
as  an  opponent. 

A  consultation  to-morrow  at  four  with  this  young 
doctor !    So  that  was  ordained,  was  it,  by  Bella  Donna  ? 

His  energy  of  mind  soon  made  him  weary  of  sitting,  and 
he  got  up  and  went  towards  the  balcony  which  so  lately  he 
had  been  watching  from  the  bank  of  the  Nile.  As  he 
stepped  out  upon  it  he  saw  a  white  figure  by  the  rail,  and 
he  remembered  that  Hamza  had  been  with  Nigel,  and  had 
disappeared  at  his  approach.  He  had  not  given  Hamza  a 
thought.  The  sick  man  had  claimed  all  of  him.  But  now, 
in  this  pause,  he  had  time  to  think  of  Hamza. 

As  he  came  out  upon  the  balcony  the  Egyptian  turned 
round  to  look  at  him. 

Hamza  was  dressed  in  white,  with  a  white  turban.  His 
arms  hung  at  his  sides.  His  thin  hands,  the  fingers  opened, 
made  two  dark  patches  against  his  loose  and  graceful  robt. 
His  dark  face,  seen  in  the  night,  and  by  the  light  which 
came  from  the  room  of  the  faskeeyeh,  was  like  an  Eastern 
dream.  In  his  eyes  lay  a  still  fanaticism.  Those  eyes  drew 
something  in  Isaacson.  He  felt  oddly  at  home  with  them, 
without  understanding  what  they  meant.  And  he  thought 
of  the  hashish-smoker,  and  he  thought  of  the  garden  of 
oranges,  surrounding  the  little  secret  house,  to  which  the 
hashish-smoker  sometimes  came.  These  Easterns  dwell 
apart — yes,  despite  the  coming  of  the  English,  the  so-called 
''awakening'*  of  the  East — in  a  strange  and  romantic  world, 
an  enticing  world.  Had  Bella  Donna  undergone  its  charm  ? 
Unconsciously  his  eyes  were  asking  this  question  of  this 
Eastern  who  had  been  to  Mecca,  who  prayed — how  many 
times  a  day! — and  was  her  personal  attendant.  But  the 
eyes  gave  him  no  answer.  He  came  a  little  nearer  to 
Hamza,  stood  by  the  rail,  and  offered  him  a  cigarette. 
Hamza  accepted  it,  with  a  soft  salute,  and  hid  it  somewhere 
in  his  robe.  They  remained  together  in  silence.  Isaacson 
was  wondering  if  Hamza  spoke  any  English.  He  looked 
full  of  secrets,  that  were  still  and  calm  within  him  a« 
standing  water  in  a  sequestered  pool,  sheltered  by  trees  in 


BELLA  DONNA  423 

a  windless  place.  Starnworth,  perhaps,  would  have  under- 
stood him — Starnworth  who  understood  at  least  some  of  the 
secrets  of  the  East.  And  Isaacson  recalled  Starnworth 's 
talk  in  the  night,  and  his  parting  words  as  he  went  away — • 
**A  different  code  from  ours!" 

And  the  secret  of  the  dahabeeyah,  of  the  beautiful 
Loulia — was  it  locked  in  that  breast  of  the  East? 

In  the  silence  Isaacson's  mind  sought  converse  with 
Hamza's,  strove  to  come  into  contact  with  Hamza's  mind. 
But  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  mind  was  softly  repelled. 
Hamza  would  not  recognize  the  East  that  was  in  Isaacson, 
or  perhaps  he  felt  the  Jew.  When  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Armine 
was  heard  from  the  threshold  of  the  lighted  chamber  these 
two  had  not  spoken  a  word.  But  Isaacson  had  learnt  that 
in  any  investigation  of  the  past,  in  any  effort  to  make 
straight  certain  crooked  paths,  in  any  search  after  human 
motives,  he  would  get  no  help  from  this  mind  that  was  full 
of  refusal,  from  this  soul  that  was  full  of  prayer. 

"Doctor  Isaacson!" 

A  dress  rustled. 

*'You  are  out  here — with  Hamza?" 

She  stood  in  one  of  the  doorways. 

*'Will  you  please  come  and  give  my  husband  the  sleep- 
ing draught?" 

''Certainly." 

"When  they  were  in  the  room  by  the  fountain  she  saidt 

''Of  course,  you  know,  this  is  all  wrong.  We're  not 
doing  the  right  thing  by  Doctor  Hartley  at  all.  But  I  don't 
like  to  thwart  Nigel.    Convalescents  are  always  wilful. ' ' 

"Convalescents!"  he  said. 

' '  Yes,  convalescents. ' ' 

' '  You  think  your  husband  is  convalescent  ? ' ' 

"Of  course  he  is.  You  didn't  see  him  in  the  first  days 
after  his  sunstroke." 

"That's  true." 

"Please  give  him  the  draught,  or  whatever  it  is,  and 
then  we  really  must  try  and  get  some  rest." 

As  she  said  the  last  words  he  noticed  in  her  voice  the 


424  BELLA  DONNA 

sound  of  a  woman  who  had  nearly  come  to  the  end  of  hef 
powers  of  resistance. 

**It  won't  take  a  moment/'  he  said.    *' Where  is  he?'* 

*^I'll  show  you.'' 

She  went  in  front  of  him  to  a  cabin,  in  which,  on  a 
smart  bed,  Nigel  lay  supported  by  pillows.  One.  candle 
was  burning  on  a  bracket  of  white  wood,  giving  a  faint 
light.  Mrs.  Armine  stood  by  the  head  of  the  bed  looking 
down  upon  the  thin,  almost  lead-coloured  face  that  was 
turned  towards  her. 

**Now  Doctor  Isaacson  is  going  to  make  you  sleep." 

*  *  Thank  God.    The  rheumatism 's  awfully  bad  to-night. ' ' 

*' Rheumatism  ? "  said  Isaacson. 

Already  he  had  poured  some  water  into  a  glass,  and 
dropped  something  into  it.  He  held  the  glass  towards 
Nigel,  not  coming  quite  near  to  him.  To  take  the  glass,  it 
was  necessary  for  the  sick  man  to  stretch  out  his  arm, 
Nigel  made  a  movement  to  do  this;  but  his  arm  dropped, 
and  he  said,  almost  crossly: 

**Do  put  it  nearer." 

Then  Isaacson  put  it  to  his  mouth. 

*' Rheumatism  ? "  he  repeated,  when  Nigel  had  swal- 
lowed the  draught. 

"Yes.  I  have  it  awfully  badly,  like  creatures  gnawing 
me  almost," 

He  sighed,  and  lay  lower  in  the  bed. 

**I  can't  understand  it.  Rheumatism  in  this  perfect 
climate!"  he  murmured. 

Mrs.  Armine  made  an  ostentatious  movement  as  if  to 
go  away  and  leave  them  together. 

*'No,  don't  go.  Ruby,"  Nigel  said. 

He  felt  for  her  hand. 

*'I  want  you — you  two  to  be  friends,"  he  said.  ''Real 
friends.  Isaacson,  you  don't  know  what  she's  been  in — 
in  all  this  bad  time.    You  don't  know." 

His  feeble  voice  broke. 

"I'll  be  here  to-morrow,"  said  Isaacson,  after  a  pause. 

"Yes,  come.    You  must  put  me — right." 


BELLA  DONNA  425 

Mrs.  Armine  could  not  accompany  Isaacson  to  the 
felucca  or  say  a  word  to  him  alone,  for  Nigel  kept,  almost 
clung  to,  her  hand. 

' '  I  must  stay  with  him  till  he  sleeps, ' '  she  almost  whis- 
pered as  Isaacson  was  going. 

She  was  bending  slightly  over  the  bed.  Some  people 
might  have  thought  that  she  looked  like  the  sick  man's 
guardian  angel,  but  Isaacson  felt  an  intense  reluctance  to 
leave  the  dahabeeyah  that  night. 

He  looked  at  Mrs.  Armine  for  a  moment,  saw  that  she 
fully  received  his  look,  and  went  away,  leaving  her  still  in 
that  beautifully  protective  attitude. 

He  came  out  on  deck.  The  felucca  was  waiting.  He 
got  into  it,  and  was  rowed  out  into  the  river  by  two  sailors. 
As  they  rowed  they  began  to  sing.  The  lights  of  the  Loulia 
slipped  by,  yellow  light  after  yellow  light.  From  above 
the  blue  light  looked  down  like  a  watchful  eye.  The  dark- 
ness of  the  water,  like  streaming  ebony,  took  the  felucca 
and  the  fateful  voices.  And  the  tide  gave  its  help  to  the 
oarsmen.  The  lights  began  to  dwindle  when  Isaacson  said 
to  the  men : 

**Hush!»» 

He  held  up  his  hand.  The  Nubians  lay  on  their  oars, 
surprised.  The  singing  died  in  their  throats. 

Across  the  water  there  came  a  faint  but  shrill  sound  of 
laughter.  Some  one  was  laughing,  laughing,  laughing,  in 
the  night. 

The  Nubians  stared  at  each  other,  the  man  who  was 
stroke  turning  his  head  towards  his  companion. 

Faint  cries  followed  the  laughter,  and  then — was  it 
not  the  sound  of  a  woman,  somewhere  sobbing  dreadfully? 

Isaacson  listened  till  it  died  away. 

Then,  with  a  stem,  tense  face,  he  nodded  to  the  Nubians. 

They  bent  again  to  the  oars,  and  the  felucca  dropped 
down  the  Nile. 


426  BELLA  DONNA 


XXXYI 


When  she  had  sent  her  note  to  the  Fatma,  Mrs.  Armine 
had  secretly  telegraphed  to  Doctor  Hartley,  begging  him  to 
come  to  the  Loulia  as  quickly  as  possible.  She  had  implied 
to  Isaacson  that  he  would  arrive  about  four  the  next  day. 
Perhaps  she  had  forgotten,  or  had  not  known  how  the 
trains  ran  from  Assouan. 

However  that  was,  Doctor  Hartley  arrived  many  hours 
before  the  time  mentioned  by  Mrs.  Armine  for  a  con- 
sultation, and  was  in  full  possession  of  the  case  and  in 
-command  of  the  patient  while  Isaacson  was  still  on  the 
Fatma. 

Isaacson  had  not  slept  all  night.  That  dream  of  the 
Nile  into  which  he  had  softly  sunk  was  gone,  was  as  if  it 
never  had  been.  His  instinct  was  to  start  for  the  Loulia  at 
daybreak.  But  for  once  he  denied  this  instinct.  Cool 
reason  spoke  in  the  dawn  saying,  **Festina  lente.*'  He 
listened.  He  held  himself  in  check.  After  his  sleepless 
night,  in  which  thought  had  been  feverish,  he  would  spend 
some  quiet,  lonely  hours.  There  was,  he  believed,  no  special 
reason,  after  the  glance  he  had  sent  to  Mrs.  Armine  just 
before  he  went  out  of  Nigel's  cabin,  why  he  should  hurry 
in  the  first  hour  of  the  new  day  to  the  sick  man  he  meant 
to  cure.  Let  the  sleeping  draught  do  its  wotk,  and  let  the 
-clear  morning  hours  correct  any  fever  in  his  own  mind. 

And  so  he  rested  on  deck,  while  the  sun  climbed  the 
pellucid  sky,  and  he  watched  the  men  at  the  shaduf.  The 
sunlight  struck  the  falling  water  and  made  it  an  instant's 
marvel.  And  the  marvel  recurred,  for  the  toil  never  cea.sed. 
The  naked  bodies  bent  and  straightened.  The  muscles 
stood  out,  then  seemed  to  flow  away,  like  the  flowing  water, 
en  the  arms  under  the  bronze-coloured  skin.  And  from 
lungs  surely  made  of  brass  came  forth  the  fierce  songs 
that  have  been  throwTi  back  from  the  Nile's  brown  banks 
perhaps  since  the  Sphinx  first  set  his  unworldly  eyes 
towards  eternity. 


L 


BELLA  DONNA  427 

But  though  Isaacson  deliberately  paused  to  get  himself 
t^ery  thoroughly  and  calmly  in  hand,  paused  to  fight  with 
possible  prejudice  and  drive  it  out  of  him,  he  did  not 
delay  till  the  hour  fixed  by  Mrs.  Armine.  Soon  after  one 
o'clock  in  the  full  heat  of  the  day,  he  set  out  in  the  tiny 
tub  which  was  the  only  felucca  on  board  of  the  Fatma,  and 
he  took  Hassan  with  him.  Definitely  why  he  took  Hassan, 
he  perhaps  could  not  have  stated.  He  just  thought  he 
would  take  him,  and  did. 

Very  swiftly  he  had  returned  with  the  tide  in  the 
night.  Now,  in  the  eye  of  day,  he  must  go  up  rrver  against 
it.  The  men  toiled  hard,  lifting  themselves  from  their 
seats  with  each  stroke  of  the  oars  and  bracing  their  legs 
for  the  strain.  But  the  boat's  progress  was  slow,  and 
Isaacson  sometimes  felt  as  if  some  human  strength  were 
striving  persistently  to  repel  him.  He  had  the  sensation  of 
a  determined  resistance  which  must  be  battled  with  ruth- 
lessly. And  now  and  then  his  own  body  was  tense  as  he 
watched  his  men  at  their  work.  But  at  last  they  drew  near 
to  the  Loulia,  and  his  keen,  far-seeing  eyes  searched  the 
balcony  for  figures.  He  saw  none.  The  balcony  was 
untenanted.  Now  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  in  the  fierce  heat, 
upon  the  unshaded  water,  the  great  boat  was  asleep,  as  if 
there  was  no  life  in  her  anywhere;  and  this  sensation  of 
the  absence  of  life  increased  upon  him  as  they  came  nearer 
and  nearer.  All  round  the  upper  deck,  except  perhaps  on 
the  land  side  of  the  boat,  which  he  could  not  see,  canvas 
was  let  down.  Shutters  were  drawn  over  the  windows  of 
the  cabins.  The  doors  of  the  room  of  the  fountain  were 
open,  but  the  room  was  full  of  shadow,  which,  from  his 
little  boat,  the  eyes  of  Isaacson  could  not  penetrate.  As 
they  came  alongside  no  voice  greeted  them.  He  began  to 
regret  having  come  in  the  hour  of  the  siesta.  They  glided 
along  past  green  shutter  after  green  shutter  till  they  were 
level  with  the  forwjard  deck.  And  there,  in  an  attitude  of 
smiling  attention,  stood  the  tall  figure  of  Ibrahim. 

Isaacson  felt  almost  startled  to  find  his  approach  known, 
to  receive  a  graceful  greeting. 


428  BELLA  DONNA 

He  stepped  on  board  followed  closely  by  Hassan.  The 
deck  was  strewn  with  scantily  clad  men,  profoundly  sleep- 
ing.   Isaacson  addressed  himself  in  a  low  voice  to  Ibrahim. 

*'You  understand  English?'' 

*  *  Yes,  my  gentleman.  You  come  to  meet  the  good  doctor 
who  him  curin'  my  Lord  Arminigel.  He  bin  here  very  long 
time.'' 

*'He's  here  already?" 

Ibrahim  smiled  reassuringly. 

*'Very  long  time,  my  gentleman.  Him  comin'  here  to 
live  with  us  till  my  lord  him  well. ' ' 

And  Ibrahim  turned,  gathered  together  his  gold-col- 
oured skirts,  and  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  upper  deck. 
Isaacson  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  followed  him  slowly. 
In  that  brief  moment  of  hesitation  the  words  had  gone 
through  Isaacson's  mind:  *'I  ought  to  have  been  here 
sooner." 

As  he  mounted  and  his  eyes  rose  over  the  level  of  the 
top  step  of  the  companion,  he  was  aware  of  a  slight  young 
man,  very  smartly  dressed  in  white  ducks,  a  loose  silk 
shirt,  a  low,  soft  collar  and  pale,  rose-coloured  tie,  a  per- 
fectly cut  grey  jacket  with  a  small  blue  line  in  it,  rose- 
coloured  socks,  and  white  buckskin  boots,  who  was  lying 
almost  at  full  length  in  a  wide  deck-chair  against  cushions, 
with  a  panama  hat  tilted  so  far  down  over  his  eyes  that  its 
brim  rested  delicately  upon  his  well-cut,  rather  impertinent 
short  nose.  From  his  lips  curled  gently  pale  smoke  from 
a  cigarette. 

As  Isaacson  stepped  upon  the  Oriental  rugs  which  cov- 
ered the  deck,  this  young  man  gently  pushed  up  his  hat, 
looked,  let  his  legs  quietly  down,  and  getting  on  his 
feet,  said: 

** Doctor  Isaacson?" 

**Yes,"  said  Isaacson  coming  up  to  him. 

The  young  man  held  out  his  hand  with  a  nonchalant 
gesture. 

**Glad  to  meet  you.  I'm  Doctor  Baring  Hartley,  in 
charge  of  this  sunstroke  case  aboard  here.     Came  down 


BELLA  DONNA  429 

to-day  from  Assouan  to  see  how  my  patient  was  getting  on. 
Will  you  have  a  cigarette?" 

''Thanks." 

Doctor  Isaacson  accepted  one. 

''Fine  air  at  Assouan!  This  your  first  visit  to  the 
Nile?" 

The  young  man  spoke  with  scarcely  a  trace  of  American 
accent.  With  his  hat  set  back,  he  was  revealed  as  brown- 
faced,  slightly  freckled,  with  very  thick,  dark  hair,  that 
was  parted  in  the  middle  and  waved  naturally,  though  it 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  crimped ;  a  small  moustache,  rather 
bristling,  because  it  had  been  allowed  only  recently  to  grow 
on  a  lip  that  had  often  been  shaved;  a  round,  rather  sen- 
sual chin ;  and  large  round  eyes,  in  colour  a  yellow-brown. 
In  these  eyes  the  character  of  the  man  was  very  clearly 
displayed.  They  were  handsome,  and  not  insensitive;  but 
they  showed  egoism,  combined  with  sensuality.  He  looked 
very  young,  but  was  just  over  thirty. 

"Yes,  it's  my  first  visit." 

"Won't  you  sit  down?" 

He  spoke  with  the  ease  of  a  host,  and  sank  into  his 
deck  chair,  laying  his  hat  down  upon  his  knees  and  stretch- 
ing out  his  legs,  from  which  he  pulled  up  the  white  ducks 
a  little  way.  Isaacson  sat  down  on  a  smaller  chair,  leaned 
forward,  and  said,  in  a  very  practical,  businesslike  voice : 

"No  doubt  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Armine — or  both  of  them,  per- 
haps, has  explained  how  I  have  come  into  this  affair  ?  I  'm 
an  old  friend  of  your  patient." 

"So  I  gathered,"  said  Doctor  Hartley,  in  a  voice  that 
was  remarkably  dry. 

"I  knew  him  long  before  he  was  married,  very  long 
before  he  was  ever  a  sick  man,  and  being  out  here,  and 
hearing  about  this  sudden  and  severe  illness,  of  course  I 
called  to  see  how  he  was." 

"Very  natural." 

"Probably  you  know  my  name  as  a  London  consulting 
physician." 

"Decidedly.    Your  success,  of  course,  is  great,  Doctor 


430  BELLA  DONNA 

Isaacson.  Indeed,  I  wonder  you  are  able  to  take  a  holiday. 
I  wonder  the  ladies  will  let  you  go. '  * 

He  smiled,  and  touched  his  moustache  affectionately. 

* '  Why  the  ladies,  especially  1 '  * 

*'I  understood  your  practice  lay  chiefly  among  the 
neurotic  smart  women  of  London." 

*'No.'' 

Isaacson's  voice  echoed  the  dryness  of  Doctor  Hartley's, 

* '  I  'm  sorry. ' ' 

*^May  I  ask  whyT' 

*'0n  the  other  side  of  the  water  we  find  them — shall  I 
say  the  best  type  of  patients  ?  * ' 

*'Ah!'' 

Isaacson  remembered  the  sentence  of  Mrs.  Armine  which 
had  sent  him  straight  to  the  sick  man.  He  seemed  to  detect 
her  cruel  prompting  in  the  half -evasive  yet  sufficiently  clear 
words  just  spoken. 

"Now  about  Mr.  Armine/'  he  said,  brushing  the  topic 
of  himself  away.    '*I  am  sure " 

But  Doctor  Hartley  interrupted  with  quiet  firmness. 
One  quality  he  seemed  to  have  in  the  fullest  abundance. 
He  seemed  to  be  largely  self-possessed. 

**It  always  clears  the  ground  to  be  frank,  I  find,*'  he 
said,  smoothing  out  some  creases  in  his  ducks.  *'I  don't 
require  a  consultation.  Doctor  Isaacson.  I  don't  consider 
it  a  case  that  needs  a  consultation  at  present.  Directly  I 
do,  I  shall  be  glad  to  call  you  in." 

Isaacson  looked  down  at  the  rug  beneath  his  chair. 

**You  consider  Mr.  Armine  going  on  satisfactorily?" 
he  asked,  looking  up. 

**It's  a  severe  case  of  sunstroke.  It  will  take  time  and 
care.  I  have  decided  to  stay  aboard  for  a  few  days  to 
devote  myself  entirely  to  it." 

**Very  good  of  you." 

*'I  have  no  doubt  whatever  of  very  soon  pulling  my 
patient  round." 

**You  don't  see  any  complications  in  the  case?" 

"Complications?" 


BELLA  DONNA  431 

The  tone  was  distinctly,  almost  alertly,  hostile.  But 
Isaacson  reiterated  coolly : 

''Yes,  complications.  You  are  quite  satisfied  this  is  a 
case  of  sunstroke  ? ' ' 

''Quite." 

The  word  came  with  a  hard  stroke,  that  was  like  the 
stroke  of  finality. 

"Well,  I'm  not." 

Doctor  Hartley  stared. 

* '  I  know  you  have  come  over  with  a  view  to  a  consulta- 
tion," he  said,  stiffly.  "But  my  patient  has  not  demanded 
it,  and  as  I  think  it  entirely  unnecessary,  you  wiU.  recog- 
nize that  we  need  not  pursue  this  conversation." 

"You  say  the  patient  does  not  wish  for  my  opinion  on 
the  case?"  said  Isaacson,  allowing  traces  of  surprise  to 
escape  him. 

"I  do.  He  is  quite  satisfied  to  leave  it  in  my  hands. 
He  told  me  so  this  morning  when  I  arrived. '  * 

"I  am  not  reflecting  for  a  moment  on  your  capacity, 
Doctor  Hartley.  But,  really,  in  complex  cases,  two 
opinions " 

"Who  says  the  case  is  complex?" 

"I  do.  I  was  extremely  shocked  at  the  appearance  of 
Mr.  Armine  when  I  saw  him  last  night.  If  you  had  ever 
known  him  in  health,  you  would  have  been  as  shocked  as  I 
was.  He  was  one  of  the  most  robust,  the  most  brilliantly 
healthy,  strong-looking  men  I  have  even  seen." 

As  he  spoke,  Armine  seemed  to  stand  before  Isaacson 
as  he  had  been. 

"The  change  in  him,  mind  and  body,  is  appalling,"  he 
concluded. 

And  there  was  in  his  voice  an  almost  fearful  sincerity. 

Doctor  Hartley  fidgeted.  He  moved  his  hat,  pulled 
down  his  ducks,  dropped  his  cigarette  on  the  rug,  then 
rather  hastily  and  awkwardly  put  it  out  with  his  foot. 
Sitting  with  his  feet  no  longer  cocked  up  but  planted 
firmly  on  the  rug,  he  said : 

**0f  course,  an  attack  like  this  changes  a  man.    What 


482  BELLA  DONNA 

else  could  you  expect?  Really!  What  else  could  you 
expect?  I  noticed  all  that!  That^s  why  I  am  going  to 
stay.  Upon  my  word" — as  he  spoke  he  seemed  to  work 
himself  into  vexation — "upon  my  word,  Doctor  Isaac- 
son, to  hear  you,  anyone  would  suppose  I  had  been  making 
light  of  my  patient's  condition/' 

Isaacson  was  confronted  with  fluffy  indignation. 

**You'll  be  accusing  me  of  professional  incompetence 
next,  I  dare  say,"  continued  Doctor  Hartley.  "I  have  not 
told  you  before,  but  I'll  tell  you  now,  that  I  consider  it  a 
breach  of  the  etiquette  that  governs  our  profession,  your 
interfering  with  my  patient." 

'*How  interfering?" 

'*I  hear  you  gave  him  something  last  night — something 
to  make  him  sleep." 

"I  did." 

** Well,  it's  had  a  very  bad  effect  upon  him." 

* '  Is  he  worse  to-day  ? ' ' 

Isaacson,  unknown  to  himself,  said  it  with  an  almost 
fierce  emphasis.  Doctor  Hartley  drew  his  lips  tightly 
together. 

''This  is  not  a  consultation,"  he  said  coldly. 

*'I  ask  as  a  friend  of  the  patient's,  not  as  a  doctor." 

**His  night  was  not  good." 

He  shut  his  lips  tightly  again.  His  face  and  his  whole 
smartly-dressed  body  expressed  a  rather  weak  but  very 
lively  hostility. 

''He's  asleep  now,"  he  added. 

"Asleep  now?" 

"Yes.  He'll  sleep  for  several  hours.  I  have  put  him  to 
sleep." 

Isaacson's  body  suddenly  felt  relaxed,  as  if  all  the 
muscles  of  it  were  loosened.  For  several  hours  his  friend 
would  sleep.  For  a  moment  he  enjoyed  a  sense  of  fasci- 
nating relief.  Then  his  consciousness  of  relief  awoke  him 
to  another  and  fuller  consciousness  of  why  this  relief  had 
come  to  him,  of  that  which  had  preceded  it,  and  given  it 
its  intensity. 


BELLA  DONNA  433 

He  must  take  off  the  gloves. 

^'Look  here,  Doctor  Hartley,"  he  said.  **I  don't  want  to 
put  you  out.  I  am  really  not  a  vulgar,  greedy  doctor  push- 
ing myself  into  a  case  with  which  I  have  no  concern,  for 
some  self-interested  motive.  I  can  assure  you  that  I  have 
more  than  enough  to  do  with  illness  in  London  and  should 
be  thankful  to  escape  from  it  here.    I  want  a  holiday." 

* '  Take  one,  my  dear  Doctor  Isaacson, ' '  remarked  Doctor 
Hartley,  imperturbably — *'take  one,  and  leave  me  to  work." 

**  No.  Professional  etiquette  or  no  professional  eti- 
quette, I  can't  take  one  while  my  friend  is  in  such  a  con- 
dition of  illness.    I  can't  do  that." 

*'  I'm  reaUy  afraid  you'll  have  to,  so  far  as  this  case  is 
concerned.  I'm  an  American,  and  I'm  not  going  to  be 
pushed  away  from  a  thing  I've  set  my  hand  to — pushed 
away  discourteously,  and  against  the  desires  of  those  who 
have  called  me  in.  Never  in  the  course  of  my  professional 
experience  has  another  physician  butted  in — yes,  that's 
the  expression  for  it:  butted  right  in — without  'With'  or 
*By  your  leave,'  as  you  have.  It's  simply  not  to  be  borne. 
And  I'm  not  the  man  to  bear  what's  not  to  be  borne. 
Really,  if  one  didn't  know  you  to  be  a  doctor,  one  would 
almost  take  you  for  a  Bowery  detective.  Straight,  now, 
one  would!  " 

**  Where's  Mrs.  Armine?  "  said  Isaacson  abruptly. 
**  Is  she  asleep,  too?  " 

''  She  is." 

The  languid  impertinence  of  the  voice  goaded  Isaacson. 
Scarcely  ever,  if  ever,  before  had  he  felt  such  an  almost 
physical  longing  for  violence.  But  he  did  not  lose  his 
self-restraint,  although  he  suffered  bitterly  in  keeping  it. 

**  Have  you  any  idea  how  long  she  is  going  to  sleep?  " 

*'  Some  hours." 

**  What?  Do  you  mean  that  you  have  put  her  to  sleep, 
too?" 

**  I  have  ventured  to  do  so.  Her  night  had  not  been 
good." 

Isaacson  remembered  the  sounds  that  had  come  to  him 
over  the  Nile. 
28 


4S4  BELLA  DONNA 

**  You  have  given  her  a  sleeping  draught?  "  he  said. 

**  I  have/' 

**  But  she  was  expecting  me  here.  She  was  expecting 
me  here  for  a  consultation." 

'*  I  beg  your  pardon.  You  were  good  enough  to  say 
you  meant  to  come.  Mrs.  Armine  has  been  scrupulously 
delicate  and  courteous  to  me.  That  I  know.  You  placed 
her  in  a  very  difficult  position.  She  explained  matters 
when  I  arrived.'' 

She  had  * '  explained  matters  ' ' !  Isaacson  felt  rather  as 
if  he  were  fighting  an  enemy  who  had  laid  a  mine  to  check 
or  to  destroy  him,  and  had  then  retreated  to  a  distance. 

**  Last  night,  Doctor  Hartley,"  he  said,  very  quietly  and 
coldly,  *  *  Mr.  Armine,  in  Mrs.  Armine 's  presence,  expressed 
a  strong  wish  to  put  himself  in  my  hands.  I  came  here 
with  not  the  least  intention  of  being  impolite,  but  since  you 
have  chosen  to  make  things  difficult  for  me  I  must  speak 
out.  Last  night  Mr.  Armine  said,  *  I  don't  want  anything 
more  to  do  with  Hartley.  He  knows  nothing.  I  won't 
have  him  to-morrow. ' '  Mrs.  Armine  was  with  us  and  heard 
these  words." 

A  violent  flush  showed  through  the  brown  on  the  young 
man's  face.  His  round  eyes  stared  with  an  expression  of 
crude  amazement  that  was  almost  laughable. 

**  He — he  said — — "  he  began.  Then  abruptly,  allow- 
ing an  American  drawl  to  appear  in  his  voice,  he  said, 
**  Pardon!    But  I  don't  believe  it." 

**  It  's  quite  true,  nevertheless." 

*'  I  don't  believe  it.  That  's  a  fact.  I've  seen  Mr. 
Armine,  and  he  was  most  delighted  to  welcome  me.  He 
put  himself  entirely  in  my  hands.  He  asked  me  to  '  save  ' 
him." 

Suddenly  Isaacson  felt  a  sickness  at  his  heart. 

'*  I  must  see  him,"  he  almost  muttered. 

'*  I  won't  have  him  disturbed,"  said  Doctor  Hartley, 
with  now  the  transparently  open  enmity  of  a  very  con- 
ceited man  who  had  been  insulted.  **  As  his  physician  I 
forbid  you  to  disturb  my  patient." 


BELLA  DONNA  435 

The  two  men  looked  at  one  another  in  silence. 

'*  After  what  occurred  last  night,  and  what  has  occurred 
here  to-day,  I  cannot  go  without  seeing  either  Mr.  or  Mrs. 
Armine,"  Isaacson  said  at  last. 

Was  Nigel's  weakness  of  mind,  the  sad  product  of  his 
illness  of  body,  to  fight  against  his  friend,  to  battle  against 
his  one  chance  of  recovery?  That  would  complicate  mat- 
ters. That — Isaacson  clearly  recognized  it — would  place 
him  at  so  grave  a  disadvantage  that  it  might  render  his 
position  impossible.  What  had  been  the  scene  last  night 
after  he  had  left  the  Louliaf  How  had  it  affected  the  sick 
man  ?  Again  he  seemed  to  hear  that  dreadful  laughter,  the 
cries  that  had  followed  upon  it ! 

*'If  I  am  not  to  see  Mr.  Armine  as  a  doctor,  then  I  must 
ask  to  see  him  as  a  friend.'' 

**For  a  day  or  two  I  shall  not  be  able  to  give  permission, 
for  any  one  to  see  him,  except  Mrs.  Armine  and  myself,  and 
of  course  his  servant,  Hamza. ' ' 

Isaacson  sent  a  sudden,  piercing  look,  a  look  that  was 
like  something  sharp  that  could  cut  deep  into  the  soul,  to 
the  man  who  faced  him.  Just  for  a  moment  a  suspicion 
besieged  him,  a  suspicion  hateful  and  surely  absurd,  yet — • 
for  are  not  all  things  possible  in  the  cruel  tangle  of  life  1 — 
that  might  be  grounded  on  truth.  Before  that  glance  the 
young  doctor  moved,  with  a  start  of  uneasiness,  despite  his 
self-possession. 

**What — what  d'you  mean?"  he  almost  stammered. 
"What  d'you  mean?"  He  felt  mechanically  at  his  tie. 
**I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said.  Then,  recovering  him- 
self, as  the  strangely  fierce  expression  died  away  from  the 
eyes  which  had  learnt  what  they  wanted  to  know,  he  added : 

'  *  I  certainly  shall  not  give  permission  for  you  to  see  Mr. 
Armine.  You  would  disturb  and  upset  him  very  much. 
He  needs  the  greatest  quiet  and  repose.  The  brain  is  a 
fearfully  sensitive  organ." 

Now,  suddenly,  Isaacson  felt  as  if  he  was  with  an 
obstinate  boy,  and  any  anger  he  had  felt  against  his  com- 
panion evaporated.    Indeed,  he  was  conscious  of  a  strong 


436  BELLA  DONNA 

sensation  of  pity,  mingled  with  irony.  For  a  moment  he 
had  wronged  the  young  doctor  by  a  doubt,  and  for  that 
moment  he  had  a  wish  to  make  some  amends.  The  man's 
unconsciousness  of  it  did  not  concern  him.  It  was  to  him- 
self really  that  the  amends  were  due. 

*' Doctor  Hartley,"  he  said  almost  cordially,  "I  think 
we  don't  quite  understand  one  another.  Perliaps  that  is 
my  fault.  I  oughtn  't  to  have  repeated  Mr.  Armine  's  words. 
They  were  spoken  and  meant.  But  a  sick  man  speaks  out 
of  his  sickness.  We  doctors  realize  that  and  don't  take 
too  much  account  of  what  he  says.  You  are  here,  I  am 
sure,  with  no  desire  but  to  cure  my  poor  friend.  I  am  here 
with  the  same  desire.    Why  should  we  quarrel?'* 

*'I  have  no  wish  whatever  to  quarrel.  But  I  will  not 
submit  to  a  man  butting  in  from  outside  and  trying  to 
oust  me  from  a  case  of  which  I  have  been  formally  given 
the  control." 

**I  don't  wish  to  oust  you.  I  only  wish  to  be  allowed 
to  co-operate  with  you.  I  only  wish  to  hear  your  exact 
opinion  of  the  case  and  to  be  allowed  to  form  and  givo  you 
mine.  Come,  Doctor  Hartley,  it  isn't  as  if  I  were  a  push- 
ing, unknown  man.  In  London  I'm  offered  far  more  work 
than  I  can  touch.  It  will  do  your  medical  reputation  no 
harm  to  call  me  in,  in  consultation.  Without  undue  con- 
ceit, I  hope  I  can  say  that.  And  if — if  you  have  got  hold 
of  the  idea  that  I'm  on  the  Nile  to  make  money,  disabuse 
your  mind  of  it.  This  is  a  case  in  which  a  little  bit  of  my 
own  personal  happiness  is  wrapped  up.  I  've — I  've  a  strong 
regard  for  this  sick  man.    That's  the  truth  of  it." 

Doctor  Hartley  looked  at  him,  looked  away,  and  looked 
at  him  again. 

**I  don't  doubt  your  friendship  for  Mr.  Armine,"  he 
said,  at  last,  laying  a  faint  stress  upon  the  penultimate 
word. 

**Will  you  let  me  discuss  the  case  amicably  with  yout 
No  formal  consultation !  Just  let  me  hear  your  views  fully, 
and  mention  anything  that  occurs  to  me." 

*  *  Occurs  ?    But  you  haven 't  examined  the  patient.    You 


BELLA  DONNA  437 

haven't  made  any  thorough  examination,  or  entered  into 
the  circumstances  of  the  case.'* 

*'No.    But  I  Ve  seen  the  patient. " 

*  *  Only  for  a  very  few  minutes,  I  understand.  How  can 
you  have  formed  a  definite  opinion?" 

**I  did  not  say  I  had.  But  one  or  two  things  struck 
me." 

Doctor  Hartley  stared  with  his  handsome,  round  eyes. 

*'For  instance,  the  patient's  sallow  colour,  the  patient's 
rheumatic  pains,  the  patient's  breath,  and — did  you  happen 
to  observe  it?  But  no  doubt  you  did! — the  patient's 
dropped  wrist." 

The  young  doctor's  face  had  become  more  serious.  He 
looked  much  less  conscious  of  himself  at  this  moment. 

** Dropped  wrist!"  he  said. 

*^Yes." 

'Of  course!  Muscular  weakness  brought  on  quite 
naturally  by  prolonged  illness.  The  man  has  simply  been 
knocked  down  by  this  touch  of  the  sun.  Travellers  ought  to 
be  more  careful  than  they  are  out  here." 

"I  suppose  you're  aware  that  the  patient  has  already 
lived  and  worked  in  Egypt  for  many  months  at  a  time.  He 
has  land  in  the  Fayyum,  and  has  been  cultivating  it  him- 
self. He's  no  novice  in  Egypt,  no  untried  tourist.  He's 
soaked  in  the  sun  without  hurt  by  the  month  together." 

*  *  As  much  as  that  ? ' '  said  Hartley. 

** Isn't  it  rather  odd  that  so  early  in  the  year  as  Feb- 
ruary he  should  be  stricken  down  by  the  spring  sunshine ! ' ' 
**It  is  queer — yes,  it  is  queer,"  assented  the  other. 
He  crossed  one  leg  over  the  other  and  looked  abstracted. 

*  *  I  suppose  Mr.  Armine  himself  thought  the  illness  was 
brought  about  by  the  sun?"  said  Isaacson,  after  a  minute. 

**Well — oh,  from  the  first  it  was  an  understood  thing 
that  he'd  got  a  touch  of  the  sun.  There's  no  doubt  what- 
ever about  that.  He  went  out  at  noon,  and  actually  dug  at 
Thebes  without  covering  his  head.  Sheer  madness !  People 
saw  him  doing  it." 

'*And  it  all  came  on  after  that?" 


438  BELLA  DONNA 

**Yes,  the  serious  symptoms.  Of  course  he  wasn't  in 
very  good  health  to  start  with. ' ' 

**No?'* 

*'He'd  been  having  dyspepsia.  Caught  a  chill  one 
evening  bathing  in  the  Nile — somewhere  off  Kous,  I  believe 
it  was.    That  rendered  him  more  susceptible  than  usual." 

**  Naturally.  So  that  he  was  already  unwell  before  he 
did  that  foolish  thing  at  Thebes  T' 

**He  was  seedy,  but  not  really  ill.'* 

**What  a  long  talk  you're  having!"  said  a  voice. 

Both  men  started,  and  into  Doctor  Baring  Hartley's 
face  there  came  a  look  of  painful  self -consciousness,  as  of 
one  unexpectedly  detected  in  an  unpardonable  action.  He 
sprang  up. 

Mrs.  Armine  was  standing  near  the  top  of  the  com- 
panion. 

XXXVII 

She  came  towards  them. 

** You've  made  friends  without  any  introduction?'* 

She  had  on  a  hat  and  veil,  and  carried  a  fan  in  her 
hand. 

**How  can  you  be  awake  and  up?  But  it's  impossible, 
after  the  veronal  I  gave  you.  And  such  a  night  as  you 
had!    You  mustn't " 

Doctor  Hartley,  still  looking  dreadfully  guilty,  wa8 
beside  her.    His  solicitude  was  feverish. 

** Really,  I  can't  permit "  he  almost  stammered. 

She  looked  at  him. 

*'Your  voices  woke  me!" 

He  was  silent.  He  stood  like  a  man  who  had  been 
struck. 

**How  d'you  do,  Doctor  Isaacson?  Please  forgive  me  for 
saying  it,  but,  considering  you  are  two  doctors  discussing  the 
case  of  a  patient  sleeping  immediately  beneath  you,  you  are 
not  too  careful  to  moderate  your  voices.  Another  minute  and 
jny  husband  would  have  been  awake.    He  was  moving  and 


BELLA  DONNA  439 

murmuring  as  it  was.  As  for  me — ^well,  you  just  simply 
woke  me  right  up,  so  I  thought  I  would  come  and  join 
you,  and  see  whether  I  could  keep  you  quiet/' 

Her  face  looked  ghastly  beneath  the  veil.  Her  voice, 
though  she  kept  it  very  low,  sounded  bitter  and  harsh 
with  irony,  and  there  was  something  almost  venomous  in 
her  manner. 

**The  question  is,"  she  added,  standing  midway  between 
Hartley  and  Isaacson,  *' whether  my  unfortunate  husband 
is  to  have  a  little  rest  or  not.  When  we  tied  up  here  we 
really  thought  we  should  be  at  peace,  but  it  seems  we  were 
mistaken.  At  any  rate,  I  hope  the  consultation  is  nearly 
done,  for  my  head  is  simply  splitting." 

Doctor  Hartley  was  scarlet.  He  shot  a  vicious  glance 
at  Isaacson. 

*' There  has  been  no  consultation,  Mrs.  Armine,"  he 
said. 

His  eyes  implored  her  forgiveness.  His  whole  body 
looked  pathetic,  begging,  almost  like  a  chastised  dog's. 

**No  consultation?  Then  what's  the  good  of  all  this 
talky-talky?  Have  you  waked  me  up  by  discussing  the 
weather  and  the  temples?    That's  really  too  bad  of  you!" 

Her  face  worked  for  a  second  or  two.  It  was  easy  to 
see  that  she  was  scarcely  mistress  of  herself. 

''I  think  I  shall  pack  you  both  off  to  see  Edfou,"  she 
continued,  violently  beginning  to  use  her  fan.  '*You  can 
chatter  away  there  and  make  friends  to  your  hearts'  con- 
tent, and  there  '11  be  only  the  guardian  to  hear  you.  Then 
poor  Nigel  can  have  his  sleep  out  whatever  happens  to  me." 

Suddenly  she  gaped,  and  put  up  her  fan  to  her  mouth. 

**Ah!"  she  said. 

The  exclamation  was  like  something  between  a  sigh  and 
a  sob.  Immediately  after  she  had  uttered  it  she  cleared 
her  throat. 

**I  told  Doctor  Isaacson  his  coming  here  to-day  was 
absolutely  useless,"  began  Doctor  Hartley.  '*!  told  him  no 
consultation  was  required.  I  begged  him  to  leave  the  case 
in  my  hands.    Over  and  over  again  I " 


440  BELLA  DONNA 

**0h,  you  don't  know  Doctor  Isaacson  if  you  think  that 
a  courteous  request  will  have  any  effect  upon  him.  If  he 
wants  to  be  in  a  thing,  he  will  be  in  it,  and  nothing  in 
heaven  or  earth  will  stop  him.    You  forget  his  nationality. ' ' 

She  yawned  again,  and  moved  her  shoulders. 

'*You  axe  wronging  me  grossly,  and  you  know  it!" 
Isaacson  said,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

He  had  laid  his  hat  down  on  a  little  straw  table.  Now 
Le  took  it  up.  What  was  the  good  of  staying  ?  How  could 
a  decent  man  stay?  And  yet  the  struggle  within  him  was 
bitter.  If  he  could  only  have  been  certain  of  this  man 
Hartley,  perhaps  there  would  have  been  no  struggle.  He 
might  have  gone  with  an  almost  quiet  heart.  Or  if  he  had 
been  certain  of  something  else,  absolutely  certain,  he  might 
have  remained  and  acted,  completely  careless  in  his  defiance 
of  the  woman  who  hated  him.  But  though  his  instinct  was 
alive,  telling  him  things,  whispering,  whispering  all  the 
time;  even  though  his  observation  had  on  the  previous 
night  begun  to  back  up  his  instinct,  saying,  *'Yes,  you  must 
be  right!  You  are  right!''  yet  he  actually  knew  nothing. 
He  knew  nothing  except  that  this  young  man,  between 
whose  hands  lay  Nigel's  life,  was  under  the  spell  of  Mrs. 
Armine. 

He  took  up  his  hat  and  held  it  tightly,  crushing  the  soft 
brim  between  his  fingers.  Doctor  Hartley  was  looking  at 
him  with  the  undisguised  enmity  of  the  egoist  tricked.  He 
had  had  time  to  find  out  that  Isaacson  had  begun  subtly 
to  induce  him  to  do  what  he  had  refused  to  do.  If  Mrs. 
Armine  had  not  appeared  unexpectedly,  Nigel  Armine 's 
case  would  have  been,  perhaps,  pretty  thoroughly  discussed 
by  the  two  doctors. 

** Pushing  trickster!'' 

His  round  eyes  said  that  with  all  the  vindictiveness  of 
injured  conceit. 

**You  are  wronging  me!"  repeated  Isaacson — "wrong- 
ing me  shamefully!" 

Was  he  going?    Yes,  he  supposed  so.    Yet  he  did  not 


BELLA  DONNA  441 

**It*s  not  a  question  of  wronging  any  one,'*  she  said. 
** Facts  are  facts.'' 

Her  face  was  ravaged  with  physical  misery.  There  was 
a  battle  going  on  between  the  sleeping  draught  she  had 
taken  and  her  will  to  be  sleepless.  She  moved  her  should 
ders  again,  with  a  sort  of  shudder,  sideways. 

*' Nigel  doesn't  want  you,"  she  said. 

*'How  can  you  say  that?    It's  not  true." 

*'It  is  true.  Isn't  it,  Doctor  Hartley?  Didn't  my  hus- 
band  " 

She  yawned  again,  and  put  down  her  hand  on  the  back 
of  a  chair  to  which  she  held  tightly.  *' Didn't  he  ask  you 
to  remain  on  board  and  look  after  the  case  ? ' ' 

*' Certainly ! "  cried  the  young  man,  eagerly  drinking 
in  her  returning  favour.    **  Certainly ! " 

* '  Didn  't  he  ask  you  to  *  save  him, '  as  he  called  it,  poor, 
dear  fellow?" 

'  *  That  was  the  very  word ! ' ' 

*'And  last  night?"  said  Isaacson,  fixing  his  eyes  upon 
her. 

' '  Last  night  you  startled  him  to  death,  rushing  in  upon 
him  without  warning  or  preparation.  Wasn't  it  a  cruel, 
dangerous  thing  to  do  in  his  condition.  Doctor  Hartley?" 

**Most  cruel!  Unpardonably  so!  If  anything  had 
occurred  you  ought  to  have  been  held  responsible,  Doctor 
Isaacson." 

**And  then  whatever  it  was  you  gave  him,  you  forced 
it  on  him.  And  he  had  a  perfectly  terrible  night  in 
consequence. ' ' 

**Not  in  consequence  of  what  I  gave  him!"  Isaacson 
said. 

*'It  must  have  been." 

**It  was  certainly  not." 

**He  never  had  such  a  night  before — ^never,  till  you 
interfered  with  him,  and  interrupted  Doctor  Hartley's 
treatment. ' ' 

''Disgraceful!"  exclaimed  the  young  doctor.    *'I  never 


442  BELLA  DONNA 

have  heard  of  such  conduct.  If  it  were  ever  to  be  made 
public,  your  medical  reputation  would  be  ruined." 

"And  I  shouldn't  mind  if  it  was,  over  that!"  said 
Isaacson. 

His  fingers  no  longer  crushed  the  brim  of  his  hat,  but 
held  it  gently. 

* '  I  shouldn  't  mind  if  it  was.  But  I  think  if  very  great 
care  is  not  taken  with  this  case,  it  will  not  be  my  medical 
reputation  that  will  be  ruined  over  it." 

As  if  mechanically  Mrs.  Armine  pulled  at  the  chair 
which  she  was  holding.  She  drew  it  nearer  her,  and  twisted 
it  a  little  round. 

*  *  What  do  you  mean  ? ' '  said  Doctor  Hartley. 

**Mr.  Armine  is  a  well-known  man.  Almost  all  the 
English  travellers  on  the  Nile,  and  most  people  of  any 
importance  in  Cairo,  know  of  his  illness — ^have  heard  about 
his  supposed  sunstroke." 

*' Supposed!"  interrupted  the  young  doctor,  indig- 
nantly.   "Supposed!" 

"All  these  people  will  know  the  name  of  the  medical 
man  in  charge  of  the  case — the  medical  man  who  declined 
a  consultation." 

"Will  know?"  said  Hartley. 

Under  the  attack  of  Isaacson's  new  manner  his  self- 
possession  seemed  slightly  less  assured. 

"I  shall  be  in  Assouan  and  Cairo  presently,"  said 
Isaacson. 

Mrs.  Armine  yawned  and  pulled  at  the  chair.  Her  face 
twitched  under  her  veil.  She  looked  almost  terribly  alive, 
as  if  indeed  her  mind  were  in  a  state  of  ferment.  Yet 
there  was  in  her  aspect  also  a  sort  of  half -submerged  slug- 
gishness. Despite  her  vindictive  agitation,  her  purposeful 
venom,  she  seemed  already  partially  bound  by  a  cloud  of 
sleep.  That  she  had  cast  away  her  power  to  charm  as 
useless  was  the  greatest  tribute  that  Isaacson  had  ever 
had  paid  to  his  seeing  eyes. 

"Really!  What  has  that  to  do  with  me?  Do  you 
suppose  I  am  attending  this  case  surreptitiously?"  said 
Hartley. 


BELLA  DONNA  443 

He  forced  a  laugh. 

"  No ;  but  I  think  it  very  possible  that  you  may  regret 
ever  having  had  anything  to  do  with  if 

In  spite  of  himself,  the  young  doctor  was  impressed  by 
this  new  manner  of  the  older  man..  For  a  moment  he  was 
partially  emancipated  from  Mrs.  Armine.  For  a  moment 
he  was  rather  the  rising,  not  yet  risen,  medical  man  than  the 
fully  risen  young  man  in  love  with  a  fascinating  woman. 
When  he  chose,  Isaacson  could  hold  almost  anybody.  That 
was  part  of  the  secret  of  his  success  as  a  doctor.  He  could 
make  himself  ''believed  in.'' 

''Some  mistakes  ring  through  the  world,''  Isaacson 
added  quietly.  "I  should  not  care  to  be  the  doctor  who 
made  one  of  them." 

Mrs.  Armine,  with  a  sharp  movement,  twisted  the  chair 
quite  round,  pulled  at  one  side  of  her  dress,  and  sat  down. 

"But  surely "  Doctor  Hartley  began. 

* '  This  really  is  the  most  endless  consultation  over  a  case 
that  ever  was!"  said  Mrs.  Armine. 

She  leaned  her  arms  on  the  arms  of  the  chair  and  let 
her  hands  hang  down. 

"Do,  Doctor  Hartley,  make  my  husband  over  to  Doctor 
Isaacson,  if  you  have  lost  confidence  in  yourself.  It  will 
be  much  better.  And  then,  perhaps,  we  shall  have  a  little 
peace." 

Doctor  Hartley  turned  towards  her  as  if  pulled  by  a 
cord. 

"Oh,  but  indeed  I  have  not  lost  confidence.  There  is, 
as  I  have  repeatedly  said,  nothing  complicated " 

"You  are  really  sure?"  said  Isaacson. 

He  fixed  his  dark  eyes  on  the  young  man.  Doctor 
Hartley 's  uneasiness  was  becoming  evident. 

"Certainly  I  am  sure — for  the  present."  The  last 
words  seemed  to  present  themselves  to  him  as  a  sort  of 
life-buoy.  He  grasped  them,  clung  to  them.  "For  the 
present — yes.  No  doctor,  of  course,  not  the  cleverest,  can 
possibly  say  that  no  complications  ever  will  arise  in  regard 
to  a  case.  But  for  the  present  I  am  satisfied  all  is  going 
quite  as  it  should  go." 


444  BELLA  DONNA 

But  he  turned  up  the  tail  of  his  last  sentence.  By  hia 
intonation  it  became  a  question,  and  showed  clearly  the 
state  of  his  mind. 

Isaacson  had  one  great  quality,  the  lack  of  which  in 
many  men  leads  them  to  distresses,  sometimes  to  disasters. 
He  knew  when  ice  would  bear,  and  directly  it  would  bear, 
he  was  content  to  trust  himself  on  it,  but  he  did  not  stamp 
upon  it  unnecessarily,  to  prove  it  beyond  its  strength. 

Suddenly  he  was  ready  to  go,  to  leave  this  boat  for  a 
time.  He  had  done  as  much  as  he  could  do  for  the  moment, 
without  making  an  actual  scene.  He  had  even  perhaps 
done  enough.  That  tumed-up  tail  of  a  sentence  nearly 
convinced  him  that  he  had  done  enough. 

^'That's  well/' he  said. 

His  voice  was  inexpressive,  but  his  face,  turned  full  to 
■^he  young  doctor,  told  a  powerful  story  of  terribly  serious 
doubt,  the  doubt  of  a  big  medical  man  directed  towards  a 
little  one. 

''That's  well,"  he  quietly  repeated. 

**  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Armine,'*  he  said. 

She  was  sunk  in  her  chair.  Her  arms  were  still  lying 
along  its  arms,  with  her  hands  hanging.  As  Isaacson  spoke, 
from  one  of  these  hands  her  fan  dropped  down  to  the  rug. 
She  did  not  feel  after  it. 

*'Are  you  really  going?'*  she  said. 

A  faint  smile  twisted  her  mouth. 

*'Yes." 

''Good-bye,  then!" 

He  turned  away  from  her  slowly. 

*'Well,  good-bye.  Doctor  Hartley,"  he  said. 

All  this  conversation,  since  the  arrival  on  deck  of  Mrs. 
Armine,  had  been  carried  on  with  lowered  voices.  But  now 
Isaacson  spoke  more  softly,  and  his  eyes  for  an  instant  went 
from  Doctor  Hartley  to  the  tall  figure  sitting  low  in  the 
chair,  and  back  again  to  Hartley. 

He  did  not  hold  out  his  hand.  His  voice  was  polite, 
but  almost  totally  inexpressive. 

Doctor  Hartley  looked  quickly  towards  the  chair  too. 


BELLA  DONNA  445 

*^ Good-bye/'  he  said,  hesitatingly. 

His  youth  was  very  apparent  at  this  moment,  pushing 
up  into  view  through  his  indecision.  Every  scrap  of  Isaac- 
son's  anger  against  him  had  now  entirely  vanished. 

*' Good-bye !'' 

Mrs.  Armine  moved  her  head  slightly,  settling  it  against 
a  large  cushion.    She  sighed. 

Isaacson  walked  slowly  towards  the  companion.  As  the 
Loulia  was  a  very  large  dahabeeyah,  the  upper  deck  was 
long.  It  was  furnished  like  a  drawing-room,  with  chairs, 
tables,  and  sofas.  Isaacson  threaded  his  way  among  these 
cautiously  as  if  mindful  of  the  sick  man  below.  At  length 
he  reached  the  companion  and  began  to  descend.  Just  as 
he  got  to  the  bottom  a  whispering  voice  behind  him  said: 

"Doctor  Isaacson!*' 

He  turned.  Doctor  Hartley  was  at  the  top  of  the 
steps. 

"One  minute!  I'll  come  down!"  he  said,  still  whis- 
pering. 

He  turned  back  and  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  Then, 
putting  his  two  hands  upon  the  two  rails  on  either  side  of 
the  steps,  he  was  swiftly  and  rather  boyishly  down,  and 
standing  by  Isaacson. 

"I — we — I  think  we  may  as  well  have  a  word  together 
before  you  go." 

His  self-possession  was  distinctly  affected.  Anxiety 
showed  itself  nakedly  in  his  yellow-brown  eyes,  and  there 
were  wrinkles  in  his  low  forehead  just  below  the  crimpy 
hair. 

"She's  fallen  asleep,"  he  added,  looking  hard  at 
Isaacson. 

"just  as  you  like,"  Isaacson  said  indifferently. 

"I  think,  after  what  has  passed,  it  will  be  better." 

Isaacson  glanced  round  on  the  stretched-out  Nubians, 
on  Ibrahim  and  Hassan  in  a  corner,  standing  respectfully 
but  looking  intensely  inquisitive. 

We'd — we  can  go  in  here,"  said  Doctor  Hartley. 

He  led  the  way  softly  down  the  steps  under  the  Arabic 


L 


446  BELLA  DONNA 

inscription,  and  into  the  first  saloon  of  the  Loulia.  At» 
Isaacson  came  into  it,  instinctively  he  looked  towards  the 
shut  door  behind  which — somewhere — Nigel  was  Ij'ing, 
asleep  or  not  asleep. 

''He'll  sleep  for  some  hours  yet,*'  said  Doctor  Hartley, 
seeing  the  glance.    ''Let's  sit  down  here.'* 

He  sat  down  quickly  on  the  nearest  divan,  and  pulled 
his  fingers  restlessly. 

*'I  didn't  quite  understand — ^that  is — I  don't  know 
whether  I  quite  gathered  your  meaning  just  now,"  he 
began,  looking  at  Isaacson,  then  looking  down  between  his 
feet. 

* '  My  meaning  ? '  * 

"Yes,  about  this  case." 

**I  thought  you  considered  a  consultation  unnecessary." 

"A  formal  consultation — yes.  Still,  you  mustn't  think 
I  don't  value  a  good  medical  opinion.  And  of  course  I 
know  yours  is  a  good  one." 

Isaacson  said  nothing.    Not  a  muscle  of  his  face  stirred. 

*'The  fact  is — the  fact  is  that,  somehow,  you  have  thor- 
oughly put  Mrs.  Armine's  back  up.  She  thinks  you  alto- 
gether undervalue  her  devoted  service." 

*'I  shouldn't  wish  to  do  that." 

''No,  I  knew!    StiU " 

He  took  out  a  handkerchief  and  touched  his  lips  and  his 
forehead  with  it. 

"She  has  been  really  so  wonderful !"  he  said — "waiting 
on  him  hand  and  foot,  and  giving  herself  no  rest  night  or 
day." 

' '  Well,  but  her  maid  ?     Wasn  't  she  able  to  be  of  service  ? '  * 

"Her  maid?    What  maid?" 

**Her  French  maid." 

A  smile  of  pity  moved  the  corners  of  the  young  man's 
mouth. 

"She  hasn't  got  one.  She  sent  her  away  long  ago. 
Merely  to  please  him.  Oh,  I  assure  you  it  isn't  all  milk 
and  honey  with  Mr.  Armine." 

Isaacson  motioned  towards  the  inner  part  of  the  vessel 


BELLA  DONNA  447 

**Aiid  she's  not  come  back?  The  maid's  never  come 
back?" 

*'0f  course  not.  You  do  so  misunderstand  her — Mrs. 
Armine. ' ' 

Isaacson  said  nothing.  He  felt  that  a  stroke  of  insin- 
cerity was  wanted  here,  but  something  that  seemed  outside 
of  his  will  forbade  him  to  give  it. 

**That  is  what  has  caused  all  this/'  continued  Hartley. 
*'I  shouldn't  really  have  objected  to  a  consultation  so  much, 
if  it  had  come  about  naturally.  But  no  medical  man — ^you 
spoke  very  seriously  of  the  case  just  now." 

**I  think  very  seriously  of  it." 

**So  do  I,  of  course." 

Doctor  Hartley  pursed  his  lips. 

''Of  course.    I  saw  from  the  first  it  was  no  trifle." 

Isaacson  said  nothing. 

''I  say,  I  saw  that  from  the  first." 

''I'm  not  surprised." 

There  was  a  pause  in  which  the  elder  doctor  felt  as  if 
he  saw  the  younger 's  uneasiness  growing. 

"You'll  forgive  me  for  saying  it.  Doctor  Isaacson,  but — 
but  you  don't  understand  women,"  said  Hartley,  at  last 
"You  don't  know  how  to  take  them." 

"Perhaps  not,"  Isaacson  said,  with  an  apparent  sim- 
plicity that  sounded  like  humility. 

Doctor  Hartley  looked  more  at  his  ease.  Some  of  his 
cool  self-importance  returned. 

*  *  No, ' '  he  said.  * '  Really !  And  I  must  say  that — ^you  '11 
forgive  me?" 

"Certainly." 

" — that  it  has-  always  seemed  to  me  as  if,  in  our  walk 
of  life,  that  was  half  the  battle." 

"Knowing  how  to  take  women?" 

"Exactly." 

"Perhaps  you're  right."  He  looked  at  the  young  man 
as  if  with  admiration.    "Yes,  I  dare  say  you  are  right." 

Doctor  Hartley  brightened. 
[       "I'm  glad  you  think  so.     Now,   a  woman  like  Mrs, 
Armine " 


448  BELLA  DONNA 

The  mention  of  the  name  recalled  him  to  ar  jclety.  ' '  One 
moment!'*  he  almost  whispered.  He  went  lightly  away 
and  in  a  moment  as  lightly  returned. 

**It's  all  right!  She'll  sleep  for  some  hours,  probably. 
Now,  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Armine,  a  beautiful,  celebrated 
woman,  wants  a  certain  amount  of  humouring.  And  you 
don 't  humour  her.    See  ? ' ' 

"I  expect  you  know." 

Isaacson  did  not  tell  of  that  sheet  of  glass  through 
which  Mrs.  Armine  and  he  saw  each  other  too  plainly. 

* '  She 's  a  woman  with  any  amount  of  heart,  any  amount. 
I've  proved  that."  He  paused,  looked  sentimental,  and 
continued,  ** Proved  it  up  to  the  hilt.  But  she's  a  little  bit 
capricious.  She  wants  to  be  taken  the  right  way.  I  can  do 
anything  with  her." 

He  touched  his  rose-coloured  tie,  and  pulled  up  one  of 
his  rose-coloured  socks. 

''And  the  husband?"  Isaacson  asked,  with  a  detached 
manner.    **D'you  find  him  difficult?" 

' '  Between  ourselves,  very ! ' ' 

"That's  bad." 

*'He  tries  her  very  much,  I'm  afraid,  though  he  pre- 
tends, of  course,  to  be  devoted  to  her.  And  she's  simply  an 
angel  to  him." 

''Hard  on  her!" 

"I  sympathize  with  her  very  much.  Of  course,  she's 
told  me  nothing.  She's  too  loyal.  But  I  can  read  between 
the  lines.    Tell  me,  though.    Do  you  think  him  very  bad  ? " 

"Very." 

Isaacson  spoke  without  emotion,  as  if  out  of  a  solely 
medical  mind. 

"You  don't — ah — ^you  don't  surely  think  him  in  any 
danger?" 

Isaacson  slightly  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"But — h'm — ^but  about  the  sunstroke!  If  it  isn't  sun- 
stroke  ?" 

Hartley  waited  for  an  interruption.     None  came. 

"If  it  isn't  sunstroke  entirely,  the  question  is,  what  is 
it?" 


BELLA  DONNA  449 

Isaacson  looked  at  him  in  silence. 

''Have  you  formed  any  definite  opinion?*'  said  Hartley, 
at  last  bringing  himself  to  the  point. 

*'I  should  have  to  watch  the  case,  if  only  for  a  day  or 
two  before  giving  any  definite  opinion." 

''Well,  but — informally,  what  do  you  think  about  it? 
What  did  you  mean  upstairs  about  unless  very  great  care 
was  taken  a — a — medical  reputation  might  be — er — ruined 
over  it.    'Ruined'  is  a  very  strong  word,  you  know." 

The  egoist  was  evidently  very  much  alarmed. 

"And  then  you  said  that  very  possibly  I  might  regret 
ever  having  had  anything  to  do  with  it.  That  was  another 
thing." 

Isaacson  looked  down  meditatively. 

"I  didn't,  and  I  don't,  understand  what  your  meaning 
could  have  been. ' ' 

"Doctor  Hartley,  I  can't  say  very  much.  A  doctor  of 
any  reputation  who  is  at  aU  known  in  the  great  world  has 
to  be  guarded.  This  is  not  my  case.  If  it  were,  things 
would  be  different.  I  may  have  formed  an  opinion  or  not. 
In  any  event,  I  cannot  give  it  at  present.  But  I  am  an 
older  man  than  you.  I  have  had  great  experience,  and  I 
should  be  sorry  to  see  a  rising  young  physician,  with 
probably  a  big  future  before  him,  get  into  deep  waters." 

"Deep  waters?" 

Isaacson  nodded  gravely. 

"Mrs.  Armine  may  think  this  illness  is  owing  to  a  sun- 
stroke. But  she  may  be  wrong.  It  may  be  owing  to  some- 
thing quite  different.    I  believe  it  is. ' ' 

"But  what?    What?" 

"That  has  to  be  found  out.  You  are  here  to  find  it 
out." 

"I — I  really  believe  a  consultation " 

He  hesitated. 

"But  there's  her  great  dislike  of  you!"  he  concluded, 
naively. 

Isaacson  got  up. 
If  Mr.  Armine  gets  rapidly  worse **' 

Sii 


t 


450  BELLA  DONNA 

**Ah,  but '» 


--*> 


''If  he  dies  vid  it's  discovered . afterwards  that  the 
cause  o-P  ^ds  illness  had  never  been  found  out  by  his  doctor, 
and  that  a  consultation  with  a  man — forgive  me — as 
widely  known  as  myself  was  refused,  well,  it  wouldn't  do 
you  any  good,  I  'm  afraid. ' ' 

' '  Good  Heavens ! ' '  exclaimed  the  young  man,  getting  up 
in  a  flurry.  "But — but — ^look  here,  have  you  any  idea 
what's  the  matter?" 

* '  Unless  there 's  a  formal  consultation,  I  must  decline  to 
say  anything  on  that  point." 

Doctor  Hartley  dabbed  his  forehead  with  his  hand- 
kerchief. 

*'I — I  do  wish  you  were  on  better  terms  with  Mrs. 
Armine,"  he  said.  **I  should  be  delighted  to  meet  you  in 
consultation.    It  would  really  be  better,  much  better." 

"1  think  it  would.  It  often  requires  two  brains  work- 
ing in  accord  to  unravel  a  difficult  case." 

* '  Of  course  it  does !    Of  course  it  does ! " 

''Well,  I'm  just  down  the  river.  And  I  may  pole  up 
little  higher." 

"Of  course,  if  I  demand  another  opinion " 

"Ah,  that's  your  right." 

"I  shall  exercise  it." 

"Women,  even  the  best  of  women,  don't  always  under- 
stand, as  we  do,  the  gravity  of  a  situation." 

"Just  what  I  think!" 

"And   if — ^he   should   get   worse "   said   Isaacson, 

gravely,  almost  solemnly,  and  at  this  moment  giving  some 
rein  to  his  real,  desperately  sincere  feeling. 

"Oh,  but— do  you  think  it's  likely?" 

Isaacson  looked  steadily  at  Hartley. 

<^I  do— very  likely." 

"Whatever  she  wishes  or  says,  I  shall  summon  you  at 
once.    She  will  be  thankful,  perhaps,  afterwards." 

"Women  admire  the  man  who  takes  a  strong  line." 

"They  do!" 

"And  I  think  that  you  may  be  very  thankful — after- 
wards." 


BELLA  DONNA  451 

**I11  tell  you  what,  I'm  going  to  call  you  in,  in  con- 
sultation, to-night.  Directly  the  patient  wakes  and  IVe 
seen  him,  I  shall  insist  on  calling  you  in.  I  won 't  bear  the 
whole  responsibility  alone.  It  isn't  fair.  And,  as  you  say, 
she'll  be  glad  afterwards  and  admire  the  strong  line  I— 
one  takes.'* 

They  parted  very  differently  from  the  way  in  which 
they  had  met. 

Did  the  fate  of  Nigel  depend  upon  whether  the  sensual 
or  the  ambitious  part  of  the  young  American  came  out 
**top  dog"  in  the  worry  that  was  impending?  Isaacson 
called  it  to  himself  a  worry,  not  a  fight.  The  word  seemed 
to  suit  best  the  nature  in  which  the  contest  would  take 
place. 

Mrs.  Armine's  ravaged  face  would  count  for  something 
in  the  struggle.  Isaacson's  cleverness  was  trusting  a  little 
to  that,  with  a  pitiless  intuition  that  was  almost  feminine. 

His  eyes  had  pierced  the  veil,  and  had  seen  that  the 
Indian  summer  had  suddenly  faded. 


XXXVIII 

Returned  to  the  Fatma,  Isaacson  felt  within  him  a  sort 
of  little  collapse,  that  was  like  the  crumbling  of  something 
small.  For  the  moment  he  was  below  his  usual  standard 
of  power.  He  was  depressed,  slightly  overstrung.  He  w^as 
conscious  of  the  acute  inner  restlessness  that  comes  from 
the  need  to  rest,  of  the  painful  wakefulness  that  is  the 
child  of  a  lack  of  proper  sleep.  As  soon  as  he  had  arrived, 
he  asked  for  tea. 

**You  can  bring  it,"  he  said  to  Hassan. 

"When  Hassan  came  up  with  the  tea  Isaacson  gave  him 
a  cigarette,  and,  instead  of  getting  rid  of  him,  began  to 
talk,  or  rather  to  set  Hassan  talking. 
^^ft        ''What's  the  name  of  the  tall  boy  who  met  us  on  the 

^K       ''Ibrahim,  my  gentleman." 

L 


452  BELLA  DONNA 

Ibrahim — the  name  that  was  mentioned  in  Nigel's  letter 
as  that  of  the  Egyptian  who  had  arranged  for  the  hire  by 
Nigel  of  the  Loulia.  Isaacson  encouraged  Hassan  to  talk 
^bout  Ibrahim,  while  he  kept  still  and  sipped  his  tea  and 
lemon. 

It  seemed  that  Ibrahim  was  a  great  friend  of  Hassan 's ; 
in  fact,  Hassan's  greatest  friend.  He  and  Hassan  were 
like  brothers.  Also,  Hassan  loved  Ibrahim  as  he  loved  his 
father,  and  Ibrahim  thought  of  Hassan  with  as  much 
respect  and  admiration  as  he  dedicated  to  his  own  mother. 

Isaacson  was  impressed.  His  temples  felt  as  if  they 
were  being  pinched,  as  if  somebody  was  trying  gently  to 
squeeze  them  together.  Yet  he  was  able  to  listen  and  to 
encourage,  and  to  know  w^hy  he  was  doing  both. 

Hassan  flowed  on  with  a  native  volubility,  revealing  his 
own  and  Ibrahim's  affairs,  and  presently  it  appeared  that 
at  this  moment  Ibrahim  was  not  at  all  pleased,  not  at  all 
happy,  on  board  the  Loulia.  Why  was  this?  Isaacson 
asked.  The  reason  was  that  he  had  been  supplanted — he 
who  had  been  efficient,  devoted,  inspired,  and  capable 
beyond  what  could  be  looked  for  from  any  other  Egyptian, 
or  indeed  from  any  other  sentient  being.  Hassan's  hands 
became  tragic  and  violent  as  he  talked.  He  showed  his 
teeth  and  seemed  burning  with  iurj.  And  who  has  done 
this  monstrous  thing?  Isaacson  dropped  out  the  enquiry. 
Hamza — him  who  prayed.  That  was  the  answer.  And  it 
was  through  Ibrahim  that  Hamza  had  entered  the  service 
of  my  Lord  Arminigel ;  it  was  Ibrahim 's  unexampled  gener- 
osity and  nobility  that  had  brought  Hamza  to  the  chance  of 
this  treacherj'-. 

Then  Ibrahim  had  been  first  in  the  service  of  the 
Armines  ? 

Very  soon  Isaacson  knew  that  IMohammed,  *'the  best 
donkey-boy  of  Luxor,"  had  been  driven  out  to  make  room 
for  Hamza,  while  "my  Lord  Arminigel"  had  been  away  in 
the  Payyum,  and  that  now  Hamza  had  been  permitted  to 
take  Ibrahim's  place  as  the  personal  attendant  on  my  lord. 

**  Hamza  him  wait  on  my  lord,  give  him  his  drink,  give 


BELLA  DONNA  45S^ 

him  his  npeat,  give  him  his  sick-food" — i.e.,  medicine — 
*give  him  everythin'." 

And  meanwhile  Ibrahim,  though  always  well  paid  and 
well  treated,  had  sunk  out  of  importance,  and  was  become, 
in  the  eyes  of  men,  ''like  one  dog  what  eat  where  him  can 
and  sleepin'  nowheres." 

Who  had  driven  out  Mohammed?  Isaacson  was  inter- 
ested to  know  that.  He  was  informed,  with  the  usual 
variations  of  the  East,  that  Mrs.  Armine  had  wanted 
Hamza.  **She  likin*  him  because  him  always  prayin'." 
The  last  sentence  seemed  to  throw  doubt  upon  ail  that  had 
gone  before.  But  as  Isaacson  lay  back,  having  dismissed 
Hassan,  and  strove  to  rest,  he  continually  saw  the  beautiful 
Hamza  before  him,  beautiful  because  wonderfully  typical, 
shrouded  and  drenched  in  the  spirit  of  the  East,  a  still 
fanatic  with  fatal  eyes. 

And  Hamza  always  gave  Nigel  his  *' sick-food. " 

When  Isaacson  had  spoken  to  Mrs.  Armine  of  Hamza 
praying,  a  strange  look  had  gone  over  her  face.  It  was  lik© 
a  look  of  horror.  Isaacson  remembered  it  very  well.  Why 
should  she  shrink  in  horror  from  Hamza 's  prayers? 

Isaacson  needed  repose.  But  he  could  not  rest  yet.  Ta 
sleep  one  must  cease  from  thinking,  and  one  must  cease 
from  waiting. 

He  considered  Doctor  Hartley. 

He  was  accustomed  in  his  consulting-room  to  read  char- 
acter, temperament,  shrewdly,  to  probe  for  more  than  mere 
bodily  symptoms.  Would  Doctor  Hartley  act  out  of  his 
fear  or  out  of  his  subjection  to  women?  In  leaving  the 
Loulia  Isaacson  had  really  trusted  him  to  act  out  of  his 
fear.  But  suppose  Isaacson  had  misjudged  him !  Suppose 
Mrs.  Armine  again  used  her  influence,  and  Hartley  suc- 
cumbed and  obeyed! 

In  that  case,  Isaacson  resolved  that  he  must  act  up  to 
his  intuition.  If  it  were  wrong,  the  consequences  to  him- 
self would  be  very  disagreeable — might  almost  be  disas- 
trous. If  he  were  wrong,  Mrs.  Armine  would  certainly  take 
care  that  he  was  thoroughly  punished.    There  was  in  her 


k 


454  BELLA  DONNA 

an  inflexible  want  of  heart  and  of  common  humanity  that 
made  her  really  a  dangerous  woman,  or  a  potentially  dan- 
gerous woman.  But  he  must  take  the  risk.  Although  a 
man  who  went  cautiously  where  his  own  interests  w^ere  con- 
cerned, Isaacson  was  ready  to  take  the  risk.  He  had  not 
taken  it  yet,  for  caution  had  been  at  his  elbow,  telling  him 
to  exhaust  all  possible  means  of  obtaining  what  he  wanted, 
and  what  he  meant  to  have  in  a  reasonable  way  and  with- 
out any  scandal.  He  had  borne  with  a  calculated  mis- 
understanding, with  cool  impertinence,  even  with  insult. 
But  one  thing  he  would  not  bear.  He  would  not  bear  to 
be  a  second  time  worsted  by  Mrs.  Armine.  He  would  not 
bear  to  be  driven  away. 

If  Hartley  was  governed  by  fear,  well  and  good.  If  not, 
Isaacson  would  stand  a  scene,  provoke  a  scandal,  even  defy 
Nigel  for  his  o^vn  sake.    "Would  that  be  necessary  ? 

Well,  he  would  soon  know.  He  would  know  that  night. 
Hartley  had  promised  to  summon  him  in  consultation  that 
night. 

''Meanwhile  I  simply  must  rest.'' 

He  spoke  to  himself  as  a  doctor.  And  at  last  he  went 
below,  lay  down  in  his  cabin  with  the  wooden  shutters 
drawn  over  the  windows,  and  closed  his  eyes.  He  had 
little  hope  of  sleep.  But  sleep  presently  came.  When  he 
woke,  he  heard  voices  quite  near  him.  They  seemed  to 
come  from  the  water.  He  lay  still  and  listened.  They 
were  natives'  voices  talking  violently.  He  began  to  get  up. 
As  he  put  his  feet  to  the  floor,  he  heard  a  knock. 

'  *  Come  in ! "  he  called. 

Hassan  put  in  his  head. 

''The  gentleman  him  here!" 

"What  gentleman?    Not  Doctor  Hartley?" 

"The  sick  gentleman." 

Nigel!  Was  it  possible?  Isaacson  sprang  up  and 
hurried  on  deck.  There  was  a  boat  from  the  Loulia  along- 
side, and  on  the  upper  deck  was  Doctor  Hartley  walking 
restlessly  about.    He  heard  Isaacson  and  turned  sharply. 

"You've  come  to  fetch  me?"  said  Isaacson. 


BELLA  DONNA  455 

As  he  came  up,  he  had  noticed  that  already  the  sun  had 
Bet.    He  had  slept  for  a  long  time. 

*  *  There 's  been  a — a  most  unpleasant — a  most  distressing 
scene!"  Hartley  said. 

*^Why,  with  whom  r' 

''With  her — ^]\Irs.  Armine.  What  on  earth  have  you 
ione  to  set  her  against  you  ?  She — she — really,  it  amounts 
to  absolute  hatred.  Have  you  ever  done  her  any  serious 
wrong?" 

''Never!" 

**I — I  really  think  she  must  be  hysterical.  There's — 
there's  the  greatest  change  in  her." 

He  paused.    Then,  very  abruptly,  he  said: 

''Have  you  any  idea  how  old  she  is?" 

"I  only  know  that  she  isn't  thirty-eight,"  said  Isaacson. 

"Isn't  thirty-eight!" 

*'She  is  older  than  that.  She  once  told  me  so — in  an 
indirect  way." 

Hartley  looked  at  him  with  sudden  suspicion. 

"Then  you've — you  and  she  have  known  each  other 
very  well?" 

"Never!" 

"Till  now  I  imagined  her  about  thirty,  thirty- two  per- 
haps, something  like  that." 

"Till  now?" 

"Yes.  She — to-day  she  looks  suddenly  almost  like  a — 
well — a  middle-aged  woman.    I  never  saw  such  a  change.'* 

It  seemed  that  the  young  man  was  seriously  perturbed 
by  the  announced  transformation. 

"Sit  down,  won't  you?"  said  Isaacson. 

"No,  thanks.     I-^-" 

He  went  to  the  rail.    Isaacson  followed  him. 

"Our  talk  quite  decided  me,"  Hartley  said,  "to  call 
you  in  to-night.  I  felt  it  was  necessary.  I  felt  I  owed  it 
to  myself  as  a — if  I  may  say  so — a  rising  medical  man." 

"I  think  you  did." 

"When  she  woke  I  told  her  so.  But  I'm  sorry  to  say 
she  didn't  take  my  view.    We  had  a  long  talk.     It  really 


k 


456  BELLA  DONNA 

was  most  trying,  most  disagreeable.  But  she  was  not  her- 
self. She  knew  it.  She  said  it  was  my  fault — that  I  ought 
not  to  have  given  her  that  veronal.  Certainly  she  did  look 
awful.  D'you  know'* — he  turned  round  to  Isaacson,  and 
there  was  in  his  face  an  expression  almost  of  awe — '*it  was 
really  like  seeing  a  woman  become  suddenly  old  before 
one's  very  eyes.  And — and  I  had  thought  she  was  quite— 
comparatively — young ! ' ' 

"And  the  result  of  your  conversation?*' 
**At  first  things  were  not  so  bad.  I  agreed — I  thought 
it  was  only  reasonable — ^to  wait  till  Mr.  Armine  woke  up 
and  to  see  how  he  was  then.  He  slept  for  some  time  longer, 
and  we  sat  there  waiting.  She — I  must  say — she  has 
charm.  * ' 

Even  in  the  midst  of  his  anxiety,  of  his  nervous  tension, 
Isaacson  could  scarcely  help  smiling.  He  could  almost  see 
Bella  Donna  fighting  the  young  man's  dawning  resolution 
with  every  weapon  she  had. 

*  *  Indeed  she  has ! "  he  assented,  without  a  touch  of  irony. 

*  *  Ah !  Any  man  must  feel  it.  At  the  same  time,  really 
she  is  a  wreck  now.'* 

Isaacson's  almost  feminine  intuition  had  evidently  not 
betrayed  him.  That  altered  face  had  had  a  great  deal  to 
do  with  Doctor  Hartley's  definite  resolve  to  have  a 
consultation. 

''Poor  woman!"  he  added.  "Upon  my  soul,  I  can't 
help  pitying  her.  She  knows  it,  too.  But  I  expect  they 
always  do." 

** Probably.  But  you've  come  then  to  take  me  to  the 
Louliaf' 

**I  told  her  I  really  must  insist." 

"How  did  you  find  the  patient  when  he  woke?" 

*'Well,  I  must  say  I  didn't  like  the  look  of  him  at  all." 

'*No?    Did  he  seem  worse?'* 

*'I  really — I  really  hardly  know.  But  I  told  her  he  wao 
much  worse." 

*'Why?" 

*'Why?    Because  I  was  determined  not  to  go  on  with 


BELLA  DONNA  45T 

the  case  alone,  for  fear  something  should  happen.  She 
denied  it.  She  declared  he  was  much  better — stronger.  He 
agreed  with  her,  I  must  confess ;  said  he  felt  more  himself ,- 
and  all  that.  But — but  she  seemed  rather  putting  the 
w^ords  into  his  mouth,  I  fancied.  I  may  have  been  wrong, 
but  still — the  fact  is  I'm  positively  upset  by  all  that's 
happened. ' ' 

He  grasped  the  rail  with  both  hands.  Evidently  he 
had  only  held  his  own  against  Bella  Donna  at  the  expense 
of  his  nervous  system. 

**When  we  left  him,  I  told  her  I  must  get  you  in.  She 
was  furious,  said  she  wouldn't  have  you,  that  you  had 
always  been  against  her,  that  you  had  nearly  prevented 
her  marriage  with  Mr.  Armine,  that  you  had  maligned  her 
all  over  London." 

*'Did  she  say  any  of  this  before  her  husband?" 

''Not  all  that.  No.  We  were  in  the  first  saloon.  But  I 
thought  the  men  would  have  heard  her.  She  really  lost 
her  head.  She  was  distinctly  hysterical.  It  was  a  most 
awkward  position  for  me.  But — but  I  was  resolved  to 
dominate  her.  *  * 

*'And  you  did?" 

"Well — I — I  stuck  to  my  point.  I  said  I  must  and 
would  have  another  opinion." 

"Another?" 

"Yours,  of  course.  There's  nobody  else  to  be  got  at 
immediately.  And  after  what  you — what  we  both  said  and 
thought  this  afternoon,  I  won't  wait  till  another  doctor 
can  be  fetched  from  a  distance." 

"We'll  start  at  once,"  said  Isaacson,  in  a  practical 
voice. 

"Yes." 

But  the  assent  was  very  hesitating,  and  Hartley  made 
no  movement.  Isaacson  looked  at  him  with  sharply  ques- 
tioning eyes. 

"I — I  wish  I  was  out  of  the  case  altogether,"  said  the 
young  man,  weakly.  "After  this  afternoon's  row  I  seem 
to  have  lost  all  heart.    I  never  have  had  such  an  unpleasant 


^ 


158  BELLA  DONNA 

scene  with  any  woman  before.  It  makes  the  position 
extremely  difficult.  I  don't  know  how  she  will  receive  us: 
I  really  don't.  She  never  agreed  to  my  proposition,  and 
I  left  her  looking  dreadful." 

**Mrs.  Armine  hates  me.  It's  a  pity.  But  I've  got 
to  think  of  the  sick  man.  And  so  have  you.  Look  here, 
Doctor  Hartley,  you  and  I  have  got  over  our  little  dis- 
agreement of  this  morning,  and  I  hope  we  can  be  col- 
leagues. ' ' 

**I  wish  nothing  better  indeed,''  said  the  young  man, 
i^arnestly. 

*'We'll  go  back  to  the  Loulia.  "We'll  see  the  patient. 
We  '11  have  our  consultation.  And  then  if  you  still  wish  to 
get  out  of  the  case " 

*' Really,  I  think  I'd  much  rather.  I've  got  friends 
waiting  for  me  at  Assouan." 

*'And  I've  got  nobody  waiting  for  me.  Suppose  the 
patient  agrees,  and  you  continue  in  the  same  mind,  I'm 
willing  to  relieve  you  of  all  responsibility  and  take  the 
whole  thing  into  my  own  hands.  And  if  at  any  time  you 
come  to  London " 

'*I  may  be  coming  this  summer." 

"Then  I  think  I  can  be  of  use  to  you  there.  Shall  we 
go?" 

This  time  Doctor  Hartley  did  move.  A  weight  seemed 
lifted  from  his  shoulders,  and  he  went,  almost  with  alacrity, 
towards  the  boat. 

*' After  gJl,  7on  are  much  my  senior,"  he  said,  as  they 
vrere  getting  in,  **  besides  being  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
patient.  I  don't  think  it  would  seem  unnatural  to  any 
one." 

**The  most  natural  thing  in  the  world!"  said  Isaacson, 
calmly.  **Yes,  Hassan,  you  can  come  with  us.  Come  in 
the  other  boat.  I  may  want  you  to  do  something  for  me 
later  on." 

The  two  doctors  did  not  talk  much  as  they  were  rowed 
towards  the  Loulia,  Both  were  preoccupied.  As  they  drew 
near  to  her,  however,  Doctor  Hartley  began  to  fidget.  His 
bodily  restlessness  betrayed  his  mental  uneasiness. 


BELLA  DONNA  459 

'*I  do  hope  she'll  be  reasonable,"  he  said  at  length. 

*a  think  she  will." 

**What  makes  you?" 

** She's  a  decidedly  clever  woman." 

*' Clever — oh,  yes,  she  is.  She  was  very  well  known, 
wasn't  s!ie,  once — in  a  certain  way?" 

**As  a  beauty — ^yes." 

Isaacson's  tone  of  voice  was  scarcely  encouraging,  and 
the  other  relapsed  into  silence  and  continued  to  fidget.  But 
when  they  were  close  to  the  Loulia,  almost  under  the  blue 
light  that  shone  at  her  mast-head,  he  said,  in  a  low  and 
secretive  voice: 

**I  think  you  had  better  take  the  lead,  as  you  are  my 
senior.    It  will  appear  more  natural." 

*'Very  weU.    But  I  don't  want  to  seem  to " 

"No,  no!  Don't  mind  about  me!  I  shall  perfectly 
understand.  I  have  chosen  to  call  you  in.  That  shows  I 
am  not  satisfied  with  the  way  the  case  is  going." 

The  felucca  touched  the  side  of  the  Loulia.  Ibrahim 
appeared.  He  smiled  when  he  saw  them,  smiled  still  more 
when  he  perceived  beyond  them  the  second  boat  with  Has- 
san. Isaacson  stepped  on  board  first.  Hartley  followed  him 
without  much  alacrity. 

**I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Armine,"  Isaacson  said  to  Ibrahim. 
Ibrahim  went  towards  the  steps. 

*'Do  you  happen  to  know  what  that  Arabic  writing 
means?"  liiaacson  asked  of  Hartley,  as  they  were  about  to 
pass  under  the  motto  of  the  Loulia. 

''That — ^yes;  I  asked.    It's  from  the  Koran." 

''Yes?" 

''It  means — the  fate  of  every  man  have  we  bound 
about  his  neck." 

"Ah!    Bather  fatalistic!    Does  it  appeal  to  you?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  haven't  thought  about  it.  I  wonder 
how  she'll  receive  us!" 

"It  will  be  all  right,"  Isaacson  said  with  cheerful 
confidence. 

But  he  was  wondering  too. 


460  BELLA  DONNA 

The  first  saloon  was  empty.  Ibrahim  left  them  in  it, 
and  went  through  the  doorway  beyond  to  the  after  part 
of  the  vessel.  Isaacson  sat  do^Ti  on  the  divan,  but  Hartley 
moved  about.  His  present  anxiety  was  in  proportion  to  his 
past  admiration  of  Mrs.  Armine.  He  had  adored  her 
enough  once  to  be  very  much  afraid  of  her  now. 

*'I  do — I  must  say  I  hope  she  won't  make  a  scene,"  he 
said. 

*'0h,  no.'' 

**Yes,  but  you  didn't  see  her  this  afternoon." 

'*She  was  upset.  Some  people  can't  endure  daytime 
sleep.    She's  had  time  now  to  recover." 

But  Hartley  did  not  seem  to  be  reassured.  He  kept 
looking  furtively  towards  the  door  by  which  Ibrahim  had 
vanished.  In  about  five  minutes  it  was  opened  again  by 
Ibrahim.  He  stood  aside,  slightly  bending  and  looking  on 
the  floor,  and  Mrs.  Armine  came  in,  dressed  in  a  sort  of 
elaborate  tea-gown,  grey  in  colour,  with  silver  embroideries. 
She  was  carefully  made  up,  but  not  made  up  pale.  Her 
cheeks  were  delicately  flushed  with  colour.  Her  lips  were 
red.  Her  shining  hair  was  arranged  to  show  the  beautiful 
shape  of  her  head  as  clearly  as  possible  and  to  leave  her 
lovely  neck  quite  bare.  Everything  that  could  be  done 
to  render  her  attractive  had  been  ver^^  deftly  done.  Never- 
theless, even  Isaacson,  who  had  seen  the  change  in  her 
that  afternoon,  and  had  been  prepared  for  further  change 
in  her  by  Hartley,  was  surprised  by  the  alteration  a  few 
hours  had  made  in  her  appearance. 

Middle-age,  with  its  subtle  indications  of  what  old  age 
will  be,  had  laid  its  hands  upon  her,  had  suddenly  and 
firmly  grasped  her.  As  before,  since  she  had  been  in 
Egypt,  she  had  appeared  to  most  people  very  much  younger 
than  she  really  was,  so  now  she  appeared  older,  decisively 
older,  than  she  actually  was.  When  Isaacson  had  looked 
at  her  in  his  consulting-room  he  had  thought  her  not 
young,  nor  old,  nor  definitely  middle-aged.  Now  he  realized 
exactly  w^hat  she  would  be  some  day  as  a  painted  and 
powdered  old  woman,  striving  by  means  of  clever  corsets,  a 


BELLA  DONNA  461 

perfect  wig,  and  an  ingenious  complexion  to  simulate  that 
least  artificial  of  all  things,  youth.  The  outlines  of  the 
face  were  sharper,  cruder  than  before:  the  nose  and  chin 
looked  more  pointed,  the  cheek-bones  much  more  salient. 
The  mouth  seemed  to  have  suddenly  "given  in"  to  the 
thing  it  had  hitherto  successfully  striven  against.  And 
the  eyes  burnt  with  a  fire  that  called  the  attention  to  the 
dark  night  slowly  but  certainly  coming  to  close  about  this 
woman,  and  to  withdraw  her  beauty  into  its  blackness. 

Isaacson's  thought  was:  "What  must  be  the  state  of 
the  mind  which  has  thus  suddenly  triumphed  over  a  hith- 
erto triumphant  body?"  And  he  felt  like  a  man  who 
looks  down  into  a  gulf,  and  who  sees  nothing,  but  hears 
movements  and  murmurs  of  horror  and  despair. 

]\Irs.  Armine  came  straight  to  Isaacson.  Her  eyes, 
fastened  upon  him,  seemed  to  defy  him  to  see  the  change 
in  her.    She  smiled  and  said : 

"So  you've  come  again!  It's  very  good  of  you.  Nigel 
is  awake  now." 

She  looked  towards  Doctor  Hartley. 

"I  hope  Doctor  Isaacson  will  be  able  to  reassure  you," 
she  said.  "You  frightened  me  this  afternoon.  I  don't 
think  you  quite  realized  what  it  is  to  a  woman  to  have 
sprung  upon  her  so  abruptly  such  an  alarming  view  of 
an  invalid's  condition." 

"But   I   didn't   at   all   mean "   began  the   young 

doctor  in  agitation. 

' '  I  don 't  know  what  you  meant, ' '  she  interrupted,  '  *  but 
you  alarmed  me  dreadfully.  "Well,  are  you  going  to  see 
my  husband  together?" 

"Yes,  we  must  do  that,"  said  Isaacson. 

He  was  slightly  surprised  by  her  total  lack  of  all  further 
opposition  to  the  consultation,  although  he  had  almost 
prophesied  it  to  Hartley.  Perhaps  he  had  prophesied  to 
reassure  himself,  for  now  he  was  conscious  of  a  certain 
rather  vague  sense  of  doubt  and  of  uneasiness,  such  as 
comes  upon  a  man  who,  without  actually  suspecting  an 
ambush,  wonders  whether,  perhaps,  he  is  near  one. 


j^H  amb 

L 


462  BELLA  DONNA 

' '  I  dare  say  you  would  rather  I  was  not  present  at  your 
consultation  ?' '  said  Mrs.  Armine. 

''It  isn't  usual  for  any  one  to  be  present  except  the 
doctors  taking  part  in  it/'  said  Isaacson. 

* '  The  consultation  comes  after  the  visit  to  the  patient, ' ' 
she  said;  "and  of  course  I'll  leave  you  alone  for  that.  I 
should  prefer  to  leave  you  alone  while  you  are  examining 
my  husband,  too,  but  I'm  sorry  to  say  he  insists  on  my 
being  there." 

Isaacson  was  no  longer  in  doubt  about  an  ambush. 
She  had  prepared  one  while  she  had  been  left  alone  with 
the  sick  man.  Hartley  having  unexpectedly  escaped  from 
the  magic  circle  of  her  influence,  she  had  devoted  herself 
to  making  it  invulnerable  about  her  husband. 

Nevertheless,  he  meant  to  break  in  at  whatever  cost. 

"We  don't  want  to  oppose  or  irritate  the  patient,  I'm 
sure,"  he  said. 

He  looked  towards  Doctor  Hartley. 

"No,  no,  certainly  not!"  the  young  man  assented, 
hastily. 

* '  Very  well,  then ! ' '  said  Mrs.  Armine. 

Her  brows  went  down  and  her  mouth  contracted  for  an 
instant.  Then  she  moistened  her  painted  lips  with  the  tip 
of  her  tongue  and  turned  towards  the  door. 

"I'll  go  first  to  tell  him  you  are  coming,"  she  said. 

She  went  out  into  the  passage. 


XXXIX 

Isaacson  glanced  at  Doctor  Hartley  before  he  followed 
her. 

"I — doesn't  she  look  strange?  Did  you  ever  see  such 
an  alteration?"  almost  whispered  the  young  man. 

Isaacson  did  not  answer,  but  stepped  into  the  passage. 

Mrs.  Armine  was  a  little  way  down  it,  walking  on  rather 
quickly.  Suddenly  she  looked  round.  Light  shone  upon 
her  from  above,  and  showed  her  tense  and  worn  face,  her 


BELLA  DONNA  463 

features  oddly  sharpened  and  pointed,  wrinkles  clustering 
about  the  corners  of  her  eyes.  She  seemed,  under  the  low 
roof,  unnaturally  tall  in  her  flowing  grey  robe,  and  this 
evening  in  her  height  there  seemed  to  Isaacson  to  be  some- 
thing forbidding  and  almost  dreadful.  She  held  up  one 
hand,  as  if  warning  the  two  men  to  pause  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  went  on,  and  disappeared  through  the  doorway 
that  faced  them  beyond  the  two  rows  of  bedrooms. 

**We  are  to  wait,  it  seems,"  Isaacson  said,  stopping  in 
the  passage.    "The  patient  is  up  then?" 

"He  wasn't  when  I  left,"  murmured  Hartley. 

"Did  you  say  whether  he  was  to  be  kept  in  bed?" 

"Oh,  no.  I  don't  know  that  there  was  any  reason 
against  his  getting  up,  except  his  weakness.  He  has  never 
taken  to  his  bed." 

"No?" 

Mrs.  Armine  reappeared,  and  beckoned  to  them  to  come 
on.  They  obeyed  her,  and  came  into  the  farther  saloon.  As 
soon  as  Isaacson  passed  through  the  doorway,  he  saw  Nigel 
sitting  up  on  the  divan,  with  cushions  behind  him,  near  the 
left-hand  doorway  which  gave  on  to  the  balcony.  He  had 
a  hat  on,  as  if  he  had  just  been  out  there,  and  a  newspaper 
on  his  knees.  The  saloon  was  not  well  lit.  Only  one  electric 
burner  covered  with  a  shade  was  turned  on.  With  the 
aid  of  the  cushions  he  was  sitting  up  very  straight,  as  if 
he  had  just  made  a  strong  effort  and  succeeded  in  bracing 
up  his  body.  Mrs.  Armine  stood  close  to  him.  His  eyes 
were  turned  towards  the  two  doctors,  and  as  Isaacson  came 
up  to  him,  he  said  in  a  colourless  voice,  which  yet  held 
a  faintly  querulous  sound: 

"So  you've  come  up  again,  Isaacson!" 

"Yes." 

* '  Very  good  of  you.  But  I  don 't  know  why  there  should 
be  all  this  fuss  made  about  me.  It's  rather  trying,  you 
know.    I  believe  it  keeps  me  back, ' ' 

Already  Isaacson  knew  just  what  he  had  to  face,  what 
lie  had  to  contend  with. 

"I  hate  a  fuss  made  about  me,"  Nigel  continued, 
**iiinply  hate  it.  You  must  know  that." 


464  BELLA  DONNA 

Isaacson,  who  had  come  up  to  him,  extended  his  hand  in 
greeting.  But  Nigel,  whether  he  felt  too  weak  too  stretch 
out  his  hand,  or  for  some  other  reason,  did  not  appear  to 
see  it,  and  Isaacson  at  once  dropped  his  hand,  while  he 
said: 

*'I  don^t  think  there  is  any  reason  to  make  a  fuss.  But, 
being  so  near,  I  just  rowed  up  to  see  how  you  were  getting 
on  after  your  sleep.'' 

*'I  didn't  sleep  at  night,"  Nigel  said  quickly.  **What 
you  gave  me  did  me  no  good  at  all.'' 

^*I'm  sorry  for  that." 

Nigel  still  sat  up  against  the  cushions,  but  his  body 
now  inclined  slightly  to  the  left  side,  where  Mrs.  Armine 
was  standing,  looking  down  on  him  with  quiet  solicitude. 

*'I  had  a  very  bad  night — very  bad." 

''Then  I'm  afraid " 

''Doctor  Hartley  rowed  down  to  fetch  you  here,  I 
understood,"  Nigel  interrupted. 

There  was  suspicion  in  his  voice. 

"Yes,"  said  Hartley,  speaking  for  the  first  time,  ner- 
vously. "I — I  thought  to  myself,  'Two  heads  are  better 
than  one.'  " 

He  forced  a  sort  of  laugh.  Nigel  twitched  on  the 
divan  like  a  man  supremely  irritated,  then  looked  from 
one  doctor  to  the  other  with  eyes  that  included  them  both 
in  his  irritation. 

"Two  heads— what  for?"  he  said.  "What  d'you 
mean?" 

He  sighed  heavily  as  he  finished  the  question.  Thp.n, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  said  to  his  wife : 

"If  only  I  could  have  a  little  peace!" 

There  was  a  frightful  weariness  in  his  voice,  a  sound 
that  made  Isaacson  think  of  a  cruelly  treated  child's 
voice.  Mrs.  Armine  bent  down  and  touched  his  hand  as  it 
lay  on  the  newspaper  which  was  still  across  his  knees.  She 
smiled  at  him. 

' '  A  little  patience ! ' '  she  murmured. 

She  raised  her  evebrows. 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  4655 

**Yes,  it's  all  very  well,  Ruby,  but ''     He  looked 

again  at  Isaacson,  with  a  distinct  though  not  forcible  hos- 
tility. ' '  I  know  you  want  to  doctor  me,  Isaacson, ' '  he  said. 
■  *  And  she  asked  me  to-night  to  see  you.  Last  night  it  was 
different,  but  to-night  I  don't  want  doctoring.  Frankly" 
— he  sighed  again  heavily — *  *  I  only  see  any  one  to-night  to 
please  her.  All  I  want  is  quiet.  We  came  here  for  quiet. 
But  we  don 't  seem  to  get  it. ' ' 

He  turned  again  to  his  wife. 

**Even  you  are  getting  worn  out.  I  can  see  that,'*  he 
said. 

Mrs.  Armine's  forehead  sharply  contracted.  *'0h,  I'm 
all  right,  Nigel,"  she  said,  quickly.  She  laughed.  "I'm 
not  going  to  let  them  begin  doctoring  me,"  she  said. 

*' She's  nursed  me  like  a  slave,"  Nigel  continued,  look- 
ing at  the  two  men,  and  speaking  as  if  for  a  defence. 
*' There  has  never  been  such  devotion.  Ajid  I  wish  every 
one  could  know  it."  Tears  suddenly  started  into  his  eyes. 
*'But  the  best  things  and  the  best  people  in  the  world  are 
not  believed  in,  are  never  believed  in,"  he  murmured. 

''Never  mind,  Nigel  dear,"  she  said,  soothingly.  ''It's 
all  right." 

Isaacson,  who  with  Hartley  had  been  standing  all  this 
time  because  Mrs.  Armine  was  standing,  now  sat  down 
beside  the  sick  man. 

"I  think  true  devotion  will  always  find  its  reward,"  he 
said,  quietly,  steadily.  "We  only  want  to  do  you  good,  to 
get  you  quickly  into  your  old  splendid  health. ' ' 

"That's  very  good  of  you,  of  course.  But  you  didn't 
do  me  good  last  night.  It  was  the  worst  night  I  ever 
had." 

Isaacson  remembered  the  sound  he  had  heard  when  the 
Nubians  lay  on  their  oars  on  the  dark  river. 

"Let  us  try  to  do  you  good  to-night.  Won't  you?"  he 
said. 

"All  I  want  is  rest.  I've  told  her  so.  And  I  tell  you 
so." 

"Shall  I  stay  on  board  to-night  and  see  you  to-morrow 
morning  when  you  have  had  a  night's  rest?" 

30 


466  BELLA  DONNA 

Nigel  looked  up  at  his  wife. 

** Aren't  you  quite  near?"  he  asked  Isaa<ison,  in  a 
moment. 

**I'm  not  very  fai-  away,  but " 

*  *  Then  I  don 't  think  we  need  bother  you  to  stay.  We  Ve 
got  Doctor  Hartley." 

**I — I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  leave  you  to-morrow," 
said  the  young  man,  who  had  several  times  looked,  almost 
with  a  sort  of  horror,  at  Mrs.  Armine's  ravaged  face. 
**You  see  I'm  with  people  at  Assouan.  I  really  came  out 
to  Egypt  in  a  sort  of  way  in  attendance  upon  ]\Irs.  Craven 
Bagley,  who  is  in  delicate  health.  And  though  she's  much 
stronger " 

**Yes,  yes!"  Nigel  interrupted.  *'0f  course,  go — go! 
I  want  peace,  I  want  rest." 

He  drooped  towards  his  wife.  Suddenly  she  sat  down 
beside  him,  holding  his  hand. 

*' Would  you  rather  not  be  examined  to-night?'*  she 
asked  him. 

** Examined!"  he  said,  in  a  startled  voice. 

**Well,  dearest,  these  doctors " 

Nigel,  with  a  great  effort,  sat  up  as  before. 

* '  I  won 't  be  bothered  to-night, ' '  he  said,  with  the  weak 
anger  of  an  utterly  worn-out  man.  * '  I — I  can 't  stand  any- 
thing more.     I — can't — stand "    His  voice  died  away. 

*'We'd  better  go,"  whispered  Hartley.  ''To-morrow 
morning." 

He  looked  at  Mrs.  Armine,  and  moved  towards  the  door. 
Isaacson  got  up. 

**We  will  leave  the  patient  to-night,"  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Armine,  in  an  expressionless  voice. 

''Yes?" 

"But  may  I  have  a  word  with  you,  please,  in  the  other 
room?" 

Then  he  followed  Hartley. 

He  caught  him  up  in  the  passage. 

"It's  absolutely  no  use  to-night,"  said  Hartley.  "Any 
examination  would  only  make  matters  worse.  He's  not  in 
a  fit  state  mentally  to  go  through  it  so  late." 


BELLA  DONNA  467 

**I  think  it  will  be  best  to  wait  till  to-morrow." 

**And  then,  directly  after  the  consultation  is  over,  I 
must  really  get  away.    That  is,  if  you  are  willing  to " 

"You  may  leave  everything  in  my  hands/' 

**She  hates  me  now!"  the  young  man  said,  almost 
plaintively.    ''Did  you  ever  see  such  a  change?" 

* '  I  'm  going  to  speak  with  her  in  the  first  saloon,  so  I  '11 
leave  you,"  said  Isaacson. 

Hartley  had  his  hand  on  one  of  the  cabin  doors. 

*'Then  I'll  go  in  here.    I  sleep  here." 

*'Good  night,"  Isaacson  said. 

**0h!  you  won't  want  me  again?" 

''Not  to-night." 

"Good  night  then." 

He  opened  the  cabin  door  and  disappeaj^d  within,  while 
Isaacson  walked  on  to  the  first  saloon. 

He  had  to  wait  in  it  for  nearly  telx  minutes  before  he 
heard  Mrs.  Armine  coming.  But  he  would  not  have 
minded  much  waiting  an  hour.  He  felt  within  him  the 
determination  of  an  iron  will  now  completely  assured. 
And  strength  can  wait. 

Mrs.  Armine  came  in  and  shut  the  door  gently  behind 
her. 

"I'm  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,"  she  said.  "I  was 
taking  my  husband  to  his  cabin.  He 's  going  to  bed.  Where 
is  Doctor  Hartley?" 

"He's  gone  to  his  cabin." 

Something  in  Isaacson's  tone  seemed  suddenly  to  strike 
her,  and  she  sent  him  a  look  of  sharp  enquiry. 

"Will  you  sit  down  for  a  minute?"  he  said. 

She  sat  dowTi  at  once,  still  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
him.    He  sat  down  near  her. 

"Doctor  Hartley  is  going  away  to-morrow  morning," 
Isaacson  said. 

"He  promised  to  stay  several  days  with  us  to  preside 
over  my  husband's  convalescence." 

"He's  going  away,  and  there's  no  question  of  con* 
valescence." 


468  BELLA  DONNA 

**I  don't  understand  you!" 

**I'll  make  myself  plain.  Your  husband  is  not  a  con- 
valescent.   Your  husband  is  a  very  sick  man.'* 

**No  wonder,  when  he's  worried  to  death,  when  he's 
allowed  no  peace  day  or  night,  when  he's  given  one  thing 
on  the  top  of  another ! ' ' 

*  *  May  I  ask  what  you  mean  by  that  ? ' ' 

"Didn't  you  come  in  last  night,  and  force  a  sleeping 
draught  upon  him  ? ' ' 

"I  certainly  gave  him  something  to  make  him  sleep." 

**And  it  didn't  make  him  sleep." 

**  Because  before  it  had  had  time  to  take  effect  he 
received  a  great  shock,"  Isaacson  said,  quietly. 

She  moved. 

"A  great  shock?" 

She  stared  at  him. 

**At  night,  upon  water,  sound  travels  a  very  long  way. 
Have  you  never  noticed  that?"  he  asked  her. 

Still  she  stared,  and  as  he  looked  at  her  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  bony  structure  of  her  face  became  more  salient. 

**Last  night,"  he  said,  as  she  did  not  speak,  **I  thought 
I  heard  something  strange.  I  made  my  men  stop  rowing 
for  a  minute,  and  I  listened.  I  am  not  surprised  that  the 
sleeping  draught  I  gave  your  husband  had  no  effect.  Under 
the  circumstances  it  probably  even  did  him  harm.  But  no 
doctor  could  have  foreseen  that." 

She  moved  restlessly.  Isaacson  got  up  and  stood  before 
her. 

*'I'm  going  to  speak  plainly,"  he  said.  ''Some  time 
ago,  in  my  consulting-room  in  London,  you  told  me  a  good 
deal  of  the  truth  of  yourself." 

"You  think " 

*  *  I  know.  You  told  me  then  that  your  whole  desire  was 
to  have  a  good  time.  How  long  are  you  going  to  put  up 
with  your  present  life?" 

**Put  up !  You  don't  understand.  Nigel  has  been  very 
good  to  me,  and  I  am  very  happy  with  him." 

*'If  he's  been  good  to  you,  don't  you  wish  him  to  get 
well?" 


BELLA  DONNA  469 

*  •  Of  course  I  do.  I  Ve  been  waiting  upon  him  hand  and 
foot." 

**And  not  even  a  maid  to  help  you — although  she  did 
ring  last  night  for  Hamza,  when  we  were  here. ' ' 

She  looked  down,  and  picked  at  the  dim  embroideries 
that  covered  the  divan. 

''I've  nursed  him  till  IVe  nearly  made  myself  ill,"  she 
said,  mechanically. 

' '  I  'm  going  to  relieve  you  of  that  task. '  * 

She  turned  her  face  up  towards  him. 

*'No,  you  aren't!"  she  said.  *'I'm  Nigel's  wife,  and 
that  is  my  natural  duty." 

''Nevertheless,  I'm  going  to  relieve  you  of  it." 

The  rock-like  firmness  of  his  tone  evidently  made  upon 
her  an  immense  impression. 

"From  to-night  I  take  charge  of  this  case." 

Mrs.  Armine  stood  up.  She  was  taller  than  Isaacson, 
and  now  she  stood  looking  down  upon  him. 

' '  Nigel  won 't  have  you ! ' '  she  said. 

"He  must." 

"He  won't — unless  I  wish  it." 

"You  will  never  wish  it." 

"No." 

"But  you  wdll  pretend  to  wish  it." 

She  continued  to  look  down  in  silence.  At  last  she 
breathed,  ""Why?" 

"Because,  if  you  don't,  I  shall  not  send  for  another 
doctor.     I  shall  send  for  the  police  authorities." 

She  sank  down  again  upon  the  divan.  But  her  expres- 
sion did  not  change.  He  believed  that  she  succeeded  in 
making  her  face  a  mere  mask  while  she  thought  with  a 
furious  rapidity. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  she  at  length  said,  "that  you 
think  anything — that  you  suppose^ one  of  the  servants — 

Ibrahim — Hamza ?    I  can't  believe  it!    I  could  never 

believe  it!" 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  cure  your  husband?'* 

"Of  course  I  wish  him  to  be  cured." 


470  Bi^LLA  DONNA 

**Then  please  go  now  and  tell  him  that  you  have  asked 
me  to  stay  here  for  the  night.  I  don 't  want  him  to  see  me 
to-night.    I  will  see  him  as  soon  as  he  wakes  to-morrow.*' 

''But— he  doesn't '' 

''Just  as  you  like!  Either  I  stay  here  and  take  charge 
of  this  ca^e,  or  I  go  back  to  the  boat  at  Edfou  and  to- 
morrow I  put  myself  into  communication  with  the  proper 
authorities. ' ' 

She  got  up  again  slowly. 

"Well,  if  you  really  believe  you  can  pull  Nigel  round 
quickly!"  she  said. 

She  moved  to  the  door, 

"I'll  see  what  he  says!"  she  murmured. 

Then  she  opened  the  door  and  went  out. 

That  night  Isaacson  sent  Hassan  back  to  the  Fatma  to 
fetch  some  necessary  luggage.  For  Mrs.  Armine  succeeded 
in  persuading  her  husband  to  submit  to  a  doctor's  visit  the 
next  morning. 

Isaacson  had  not  been  worsted.  But  as  he  went  into 
one  of  the  smart  little  cabins  to  get  some  sleep  if  possible, 
he  felt  terribly,  almost  unbearably,  depressed. 

For  what   was — what   must   be — the   meaning   of   this 
victory  ? 

XL 

Isaacson  had  asked  himself  at  night  the  meaning  of  his 
victory.  When  the  morning  da\Mied,  when  once  more  he 
had  to  go  to  his  work,  the  work  which  was  his  life,  although 
sometimes  he  was  inclined  to  decry  it  secretly  in  moments 
of  fatigue,  he  asked  no  further  questions.  His  business 
was  plain  before  him,  and  it  was  business  into  which  he 
could  put  his  heart.  Although  he  w^as  not  an  insensitive 
man,  he  was  a  man  of  generous  nature.  He  pushed  away 
with  an  almost  careless  energy  those  small  annoyances, 
those  little  injuries  of  life,  which  more  petty  people  make 
much  of  and  cannot  easily  forgive.  The  querulous  man 
who  was  ready,  out  of  his  bodily  weakness  and  his  mis- 


BELLA  DONNA  471 

directed  love,  to  make  little  of  his  friendship,  even  to 
thrust  away  his  proffered  help,  he  disregarded  as  man, 
regarded  as  so  much  nearly  destroyed  material  which  he 
had  to  repair,  to  bring  back  to  its  former  fiawlessness.  He 
knew  the  real  nature,  the  real  soul  of  the  man;  he  under- 
stood why  they  were  warped,  and  he  put  himself  aside,  put 
his  pride  into  his  pocket,  which  he  considered  the  proper 
place  for  it  at  that  moment.  But  though  he  had  gained 
his  point  by  a  daring  half-avowal  of  what  his  intuition 
had  w^hispered  to  him,  he  presently  realized  that  if  he  were 
to  win  through  with  Nigel  into  the  sunshine,  he  must  act 
with  determination;  perhaps,  too,  with  a  cunning  which 
the  Eastern  drops  in  his  blood  made  not  so  unnatural  to 
him  as  it  might  have  been  to  most  men  as  honest  living  as 
he  was. 

Mrs.  Armine  had  been  dominated  for  the  moment.  She 
had  obeyed.  She  had  done  the  thing  she  hated  to  do.  But 
she  was  not  the  woman  to  run  straight  on  any  path  that 
led  away  from  her  wishes;  she  now  loathed  as  well  as 
feared  Meyer  Isaacson,  and  she  had  a  cruelly  complete 
influence  over  her  husband.  And  even  any  secret  fear 
could  not  hold  her  animus  against  the  man  who  under- 
stood her  wholly  in  check.  Like  the  mole,  she  must  work 
in  the  dark.    She  could  not  help  it. 

What  she  had  said  of  him  to  Nigel,  between  his  first 
and  his  second  visits  to  the  Loulia,  Isaacson  did  not  Imow. 
Indeed,  he  scarcely  cared  to  know.  It  was  not  difficult  to 
divine  how  she  had  used  her  influence.  Isaacson  could 
almost  hear  her  reciting  the  catalogue  of  his  misdeeds 
against  herself,  could  almost  see  her  eyes  as  she  murmured 
the  insinuations  which  doubtless  the  sick  man  had  believed 
— because  in  his  condition  he  must  believe  almost  anything 
she  persistently  told  him. 

Yet  at  a  word  from  her  he  had  agreed  to  accept  all  the 
ministrations  of  his  friend,  which  at  another  word  he  had 
been  willing  to  repel. 

The  fact  was  that  secretly  he  was  crying  out  for  the 
powerful  hand  to  save  him  from  the  abyss.    And  he  be- 


472  BELLA  DONNA 

lieved  in  Isaacson  as  a  doctor,  however  much  he  now  re- 
sented Isaacson's  mistrust,  no  longer  to  be  doubted,  of  the 
woman  his  chivalry  had  lifted  to  a  throne. 

He  received  Isaacson  with  an  odd  mixture  of  thankful- 
ness and  reserve,  put  himself  into  the  doctor's  hands  with 
almost  a  boy's  confidence,  but  kept  himself  free,  wdth  a 
determination  that  in  the  circumstances  was  touching, 
however  pitiful,  from  the  stretched-out  hands  of  the  friend. 

And  Isaacson  felt  swiftly  that  though  one  contest  was 
ended,  and  ended  as  he  desired,  another  contest  was  at  its 
beginning,  a  silent  battle  of  influences  about  this  good 
fellow^  who,  by  his  very  virtue,  had  fallen  so  low. 

But  the  doctor  must  come  first.  That  coming  might 
clear  the  ground  for  the  friend.  And  so  Isaacson,  in  the 
beginning,  met  Nigel's  new  reserve  with  another  reserve, 
very  unself-conscious  apparently,  very  businesslike,  prac- 
tical, and,  above  all  things,  very  calm. 

Isaacson  radiated  calm. 

He  found  his  patient  that  first  morning  weary  after 
another  bad  night,  induced  partly  by  the  draught  which 
had  sent  him  to  sleep  in  daylight,  and  this  very  conscious 
and  physical  misery,  acting  upon  the  mind,  played  into 
the  Doctor's  hands.  He  was  able  without  difficulty  to  make 
a  minute  examination  of  the  case.  The  patient,  though  so 
reserved  at  first  in  his  manner,  putting  a  barrier  between 
himself  and  Isaacson,  was  almost  pathetically  talkative 
directly  the  conversation  became  definitely  medical.  But 
that  conversation  finished,  he  relapsed  into  his  former 
almost  stiff  reserve,  a  reserve  which  seemed  so  strangely 
foreign  to  his  real  nature  that  Isaacson  felt  as  if  the  man 
ke  knew  and  cared  for  had  got  up  and  left  the  room. 

]\Irs.  Armine  was  waiting  to  hear  the  result  of  the 
interview.  Doctor  Hartley  had  taken  his  departure — fled, 
perhaps,  is  the  word — at  an  early  hour.  In  daylight  her 
face  looked  even  more  ravaged  than  it  had  on  the  previous 
night.    But  her  manner  was  coldly  calm. 

**What  is  the  verdict?"  she  asked. 

**I'm  afraid  I  am  not  prepared  to  give  a  verdict.    Your 


BELLA  DONNA  473 

husband  is  in  a  very  weak,  low  state.  If  it  had  been 
allowed  to  continue  indefinitely,  the  mischief  might  have 
become  irreparable/' 

' '  But  you  can  put  him  right  ? ' ' 

' '  Let 's  hope  so. ' ' 

She  stood  as  if  she  were  waiting  for  more  definite  infor- 
mation.   But  none  came.    After  a  silence  Isaacson  said: 

"The  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  get  him  away  from 
here.'' 

*'Get  him  away!    Where  to?" 

*' You've  still  got  your  villa  at  Luxor,  I  believe?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"I  suppose  it  is  comfortable,  well  arranged?" 

"Pretty  weU." 

"And  it's  quiet  and  has  a  garden,  I  know." 

"You've  seen  it?" 

"Yes.  My  boat  was  tied  up  just  opposite  to  it  the  night 
before  I  started  up  river." 

"Oh!" 

"Perhaps  you'll  be  kind  enough  to  give  the  order  to 
the  Reis  to  start  for  Luxor  as  soon  as  possible  ? ' ' 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  indifferently. 

Her  whole  look  and  manner  now  were  curiously  indolent 
and  indifferent.  Before  she  had  been  full  of  fiercely 
nervous  life.  To-day  it  seemed  as  if  that  life  was  with- 
drawn from  her. 

"I'll  teU  him  now,"  she  said. 

And  without  any  more  questions  she  went  away  to  the 
deck. 

Soon  afterwards  there  was  a  stir.  Cries  were  heard  from 
the  sailors,  and  the  Loulia  began  to  move,  floating  north- 
wards with  the  tide.  When  Nigel  asked  the  reason,  Isaac- 
son said  to  him : 

* '  This  place  is  too  isolated  for  an  invalid.  One  can  get 
at  nothing  here.  You  will  be  much  more  at  your  ease  in 
your  own  home,  and  I  can  take  better  care  of  you  there.' 

"We  are  going  back  to  the  villa?" 

'*Yes." 


474  BELLA  DONNA 

''I'm  glad/'  Nigel  said,  slowly.  "I  never  told  her,  but 
I  was  beginning  to  bate  this  boat ;  all  this  trouble  has  come 
upon  me  here.  Sometimes — sometimes  I  have  felt  almost 
as  if " 

He  broke  off. 

*  *  Yes  ? ' '  Isaacson  said,  quietly. 

''As  if  there  w^ere  something  that  was  fatal  to  me  on 
board  the  Loul'ia.'* 

"In  the  villa  I  shall  get  you  back  to  your  original 
health  and  strength." 

The  thin,  lead-coloured  face  drooped  forward,  and  the 
eyes  that  were  full  of  a  horrible  malaise  held  for  a  moment 
the  fires  of  hope. 

"Do  you  really  think  I  can  ever  get  well?" 

Isaacson  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said, 
"Will  you  make  me  a  promise?" 

"What  is  it?" 

"Will  you  promise  me  to  obey  implicitly  everything  I 
order  you  to  do?" 

"Do  you  mean — as  a  doctor?" 

"I  do." 

"I  promise." 

"Very  well.  If  you  carry  out  that  promise,  I  think  I 
can  undertake  to  cure  you.  I  think  I  can  undertake  that 
some  day  you  will  be  once  more  the  strong  man  who 
rejoices  in  his  strength." 

Tears  came  into  Nigel's  eyes. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said.    "I  wonder." 

"But  remember,"  Isaacson  said,  almost  wnth  solemnity, 
"I  shall  expect  from  you  implicit  obedience  to  my  medical 
orders.  And  the  first  of  them  is  this :  you  are  to  swallow 
nothing  which  is  not  given  to  you  by  me  with  my  own 
hand." 

"Medicine,  you  mean?" 

' '  I  mean  what  I  say — nothing ;  not  a  morsel  of  food,  not 
a  drop  of  liquid." 

"Then  my  wife  and  Hamza " 

"Will  you  obey  me?"  Isaacson  interrupted,  almost 
sternly. 


BELLA  DONNA  475 

**Yes/'  Nigel  said,  in  a  weak  voice. 

**And  now  just  lie  quiet,  and  remember  you  are  going 
towards  your  home,  in  which  I  intend  to  get  you  quite 
well.'' 

And  the  Loulia  floated  down  with  the  tide,  slowly,  and 
broadside  to  the  great  river,  for  there  was  no  wind  at  all, 
and  the  weather  was  hot  almost  as  a  furnace.  The  Fatma 
untied,  and  followed  her  down.  And  the  night  came,  and 
still  they  floated  on  broadside  under  the  stars. 

Nigel  was  now  sleeping,  and  Meyer  Isaacson  was  watch- 
ing. 

And  in  a  cabin  close  by  a  woman  was  staring  at  her  face 
in  a  little  glass  set  in  the  lid  of  a  gilded  box,  was  staring, 
with  desperation  at  her  heart. 

Hartley  had  said  he  believed  she  knew  of  the  sudden 
collapse  of  her  beauty.  Believed!  Before  he  had  noticed 
it,  she  had  perceived  it,  with  a  cold  horror  which,  gather- 
ing strength,  grew  into  a  bitter  despair.  And  with  the 
despair  came  hatred,  hatred  of  the  man  who  by  keeping  her 
back  from  happiness  had  led  her  to  this  collapse.  This 
man  was  Nigel.  He  thought  he  had  saved  her  from  her 
worst  self.  But  really  he  had  stirred  this  worst  self  from 
sleep.  In  London  she  had  been  almost  a  good  woman, 
compared  to  the  woman  she  was  now.  His  bungling  search 
after  nobility  of  spirit  had  roused  the  devil  within  her. 
She  longed  to  let  him  know  what  she  really  was.  Often  and 
often,  while  they  two  had  been  isolated  together  on  the 
Loulia,  she  had  been  on  the  edge  of  telling  him  at  least 
some  fragments  of  the  truth.  Her  nerves  had  nearly 
betrayed  her  when  through  the  long  and  shining  hours  the 
dahabeeyah  lay  still  on  the  glassy  river,  far  away  from  the 
haunts  of  men,  and  she,  sick  with  ennui,  nearly  mad  because 
of  the  dulness  of  her  life,  had  been  forced  to  play  at  love 
with  the  man  whose  former  strength  and  beauty  diminished 
day  by  day. 

Would  it  never  end?  Each  day  seemed  to  her  an  eter- 
nity, each  hour  almost  a  year.  But  she  knew  that  she  must 
be  patient,  though  patience  was  no  part  of  her  character. 


476  BELLA  DONNA 

All  through  her  life  she  had  been  an  impatient  and  gi*eedy 
woman,  seizing  on  what  she  wanted  and  holding  to  it  tena- 
ciously. She  had  hidden  her  impatience  with  her  charm, 
and  so  she  had  gained  successes.  But  now,  with  so  little 
time  left  to  her  for  possible  enjoyment,  gnawed  by  desire 
and  jealousy,  she  found  her  powers  reluctant  in  their  com- 
ing. Formerly  she  had  exercised  her  influence  almost  with- 
out effort.  Now  she  had  to  be  stubborn  in  endeavour. 
And  she  knew,  with  the  frightful  certainty  of  the  middle- 
aged  woman,  that  the  cruel  exertions  of  her  mind  must 
soon  tell  upon  her  body. 

Her  terror,  a  terror  which  had  never  left  her  during 
these  days  and  nights  on  the  dahabeeyah,  was  that  her 
beauty  might  fade  before  she  was  free  to  go  to  Baroudi. 
She  knew  now  how  strongly  she  had  fascinated  him,  despite 
his  seeming,  almost  cruel  imperturbability.  By  her  lowest 
powers,  the  powers  that  Nigel  ignored  and  thought  that  he 
hated — ^though  perhaps  he  too  had  been  partially  subject 
to  them — she  had  grasped  the  sensual  nature  of  the  Egyp- 
tian. As  Starnworth  had  told  Isaacson,  Baroudi  had 
within  him  the  madness  for  women.  He  had  within  him 
the  madness  for  Bella  Donna.  But  he  knew  how  to  wait 
for  what  he  wanted.  He  was  waiting  now.  The  question 
that  had  presented  itself  to  Mrs.  Armine  again  and  again 
during  her  exile  with  Nigel  was  this:  ''Will  he  wait  too 
long?"  She  knew  how  fleeting  is  the  Indian  summer  of 
women.  And  she  knew,  though  she  denied  it  to  herself, 
that  if  she  brought  to  Baroudi  not  an  Indian. summer  as  her 
gift,  but  a  fading  autumn,  she  would  run  the  risk  of  being 
confronted  by  the  blank  cruelty  that  is  so  often  the  off- 
spring of  the  Eastern  conception  of  women. 

Yet  in  her  terror  she  had  always  been  supported  by  a 
fierce  energy  of  hope,  until  in  the  holy  of  holies  of  Horus 
she  had  come  face  to  face  with  Isaacson. 

And  now! 

Now  she  sat  alone  in  her  cabin,  and  she  stared  into  the 
little  mirror  which  Baroudi  had  given  her  in  the  garden 
of  oranges. 


BELLA  DONNA  477 

And  Isaacson  watched  over  her  husband. 

**The  fate  of  every  man  have  we  bound  about  his 
neck/' 

The  Arabic  letters  of  gold  seemed  to  be  pressing  down 
upon  her,  to  crush  her  body  and  spirit.  She  put  down  the 
box,  and,  almost  savagely  shut  down  the  lid  upon  it. 

And  now  that  she  no  longer  saw  herself,  she  seemed  to 
see  Hamza  praying,  as  he  had  prayed  that  day  in  the  orange 
garden  when  she  looked  out  of  the  window.  Then  she  had 
felt  that  the  hands  of  the  East  had  grasped  her,  that  they 
w^ould  never  let  her  go,  and  something  within  her  had 
recoiled,  though  something  else  had  desired  only  that — to 
be  grasped  by  Baroudi's  hands. 

The  praying  men  had  frightened  her.  Yet  she  believed 
in  no  God. 

If  there  really  was  a  God !    If  He  looked  upon  her  now  ? 

She  sprang  up,  and  turned  out  the  light. 


The  next  day  the  Loulia  tied  up  under  the  garden  of  the 
Villa  Androud,  just  beyond  the  stone  promontory  that 
diverted  the  strong  current  of  the  river.  Nigel,  too  weak 
to  walk  up  the  bank  to  the  house,  was  carefully  carried  by 
the  Nubians.  The  surprised  servants  of  the  villa,  who  had 
had  no  notice  of  their  master's  arrival,  hastened  to  throw 
back  the  shutters,  to  open  the  windows,  letting  in  light  and 
air.  And  Ibrahim  once  more  began  to  look  authoritative, 
for  it  seemed  that  Hamza 's  reign  was  over.  From  hence- 
forth only  Meyer  Isaacson  gave  food  and  drink  and  **  sick- 
food '^  to  *'my  Lord  Arminigel." 

The  change  from  dahabeeyah  life  to  life  on  shore  seemed 
at  once  to  make  a  difference  to  the  patient.  When  he  was 
put  carefully  down  in  the  white  and  yellow  drawing-room, 
and,  looking  out  through  the  French  windows  across  the 
terrace,  saw  the  roses  blowing  in  the  sandy  garden,  he 
heaved  a  sigh  that  was  like  a  deep  breathing  of  relief. 

"I'm  thankful  to  be  out  of  the  Loulia,  Ruby,''  he  said 
to  his  wife,  who  was  standing  beside  the  sofa  on  which  he 
was  resting. 


478  BELLA  DONNA 

**Are  you,  Nigel    WhyT' 

'*I  don't  know.  It  seemed  to  oppress  me.  And  you 
know  that  writing?" 

"What  writing?'' 

**Over  the  door  as  you  went  in." 

*'0h,  yes." 

**I  used  to  think  of  it  in  the  night  when  I  felt  so  awful, 
and  it  was  like  a  weight  coming  down  to  crush  me." 

* '  That  was  fanciful  of  you, ' '  she  said. 

But  she  sent  him  a  strange  look  of  half-frightened 
suspicion. 

He  did  not  see  it.  He  was  looking  out  to  the  garden. 
From  the  Nile  rose  the  voices  of  the  sailors  singing  their 
song.    He  listened  to  it  for  a  moment. 

''What  a  strange  time  it's  been  since  we  first  heard  tha- 
song  together,  Ruby,"  he  said. 

''Yes." 

"When  we  first  heard  it,  I  was  so  strong,  so  happy — 
strong  to  protect  you,  happy  to  have  you  to  protect,  and — 
and  it's  ended  in  your  having  to  protect  and  take  care  of 
me." 

She  moved. 

' '  Yes, ' '  she  said  again,  in  a  dry  voice. 

"I — I  think  I'm  glad  we  can't  look  into  the  future. 
One  wants  a  lot  of  courage  in  life." 

She  said  nothing. 

*  *  But  I  feel  a  little  courage  now.  I  never  quite  told  you 
how  it  was  with  me  on  the  Loulia.  If  I  had  stayed  on  her 
much  longer,  as  we  were,  I  should  have  died.  I  should  have 
died  very  soon." 

"No,  no,  Nigel." 

"Yes,  I  should.  But  here" — he  moved,  stretched  out 
his  arms,  sighed — "I  feel  that  I  shall  get  better,  perhaps 
get  well,  even.    How — ^how  splendid  if  I  do!" 

"Well,  I  must  go  and  look  after  things,"  she  said. 

"You're  tired,  aren't  you?" 

' '  No.    Wliy  should  you  think  so  ?  " 

**Your  voice  sounds  tired." 


BELLA  DONNA  479 

"It  isn't  that." 

**Whatisit?'' 

**You  know  that  for  your  sake  I  am  enduring  a  com- 
panionship that  is  odious  to  me, ' '  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

At  that  moment,  Meyer  Isaacson  came  into  the  room. 

**We  must  get  the  patient  to  bed  as  soon  as  possible,*' 
he  said,  in  his  quiet,  practical,  and  strong  voice. 

''I'll  go  and  see  about  the  room,"  said  Mrs.  Armine. 

She  went  away  quickly. 

When  she  got  upstairs  there  were  drops  of  blood  on  her 
lower  lip- 

XLI 

Nigel  had  come  to  hate  the  Loulia.  They  had  no 
further  need  of  her,  and  he  begged  his  wife  to  telegraph  to 
Baroudi  in  his  name  to  take  her  away  as  soon  as  he  liked. 

''Ibrahim  has  his  address,  I  know,"  he  said. 

The  telegram  was  sent.  In  reply  came  one  from  Baroudi 
taking  over  the  Loulia.  The  same  day  the  Reis  came  up  to 
the  villa  to  receive  backsheesh  and  to  say  farewell.  He 
made  no  remark  as  to  his  own  and  his  crew's  immediate 
destiny,  but  soon  after  he  had  gone  the  Loulia  untied, 
crossed  the  Nile,  and  was  tied  up  again  nearly  opposite  to 
the  garden  against  the  western  bank.  And  in  the  evening 
the  sailors  could  be  heard  in  the  distance  "making  the 
fantasia." 

I\Irs.  Armine  heard  them  as  she  walked  alone  in  the 
garden  close  to  the  promontory,  and  she  saw  the  blue  light 
at  the  mast-head.    The  cabin  mndows  were  dark. 

So  this  was  the  end  of  their  voyage  to  the  South ! 

She  stood  still  near  the  wall  of  earth  which  divided  the 
garden  from  the  partially  waste  and  partially  cultivated 
ground  which  lay  beyond  it. 

She  had  not  thought  that  they  would  come  back — three. 

This  was  the  end  of  their  voyage.  But  what  was  to  be 
the  end? 

Baroudi  made  no  sign.    He  had  never  written  to  her  one 


480  BELLA  DONNA 

word.  She  had  never  dared  to  write  to  him.  He  had  not 
told  her  to  write,  and  that  meant  he  did  not  choose  her  to 
write.  She  was  very  much  afraid  of  him,  and  her  fear  of 
him  was  part  of  the  terrible  fascination  he  held  to  govern 
her.  She  who  had  had  so  many  slaves  when  she  was  young 
ended  thus — in  being  herself  a  slave. 

She  sat  down  by  the  earth  wall  on  the  first  stones  of 
the  promontory.  The  night  was  moonless ;  but  in  the  clear 
nights  of  Egypt,  even  without  the  moon  very  near  details 
can  often  be  distinguished. 

To  the  right  of  Mrs.  Armine  the  brown  earth  bank 
shelved  steeply  to  a  shore  that  was  like  a  sandy  beach  which 
an  incoming  tide  had  nearly  covered.  About  it,  in  a  sort 
of  large  basin  of  loose  sand  and  earth,  grew  a  quantity  of 
bushes  forming  a  not  dense  scrub.  She  had  never  been 
down  to  walk  upon  the  sandy  shore,  though  she  had  often 
descended  to  get  into  the  felucca.  But  to-night,  after  sit- 
ting still  for  some  time,  she  went  down,  and  began  to  pace 
upon  the  sand  close  to  the  water's  edge. 

From  here  she  could  not  see  the  house  with  its  lighted 
windows,  speaking  to  her  of  the  life  in  which  she  was 
involved.  She  could  see  nothing  except  the  darkness  of 
the  great  river,  the  dark  outline  of  the  promontory,  and  of 
the  top  of  the  bank  where  the  garden  began,  the  dark  and 
confused  forms  of  the  bushes  tangled  together.  At  her 
feet  the  silent  water  lay,  like  lake  water  almost,  though 
farther  out  the  current  was  strong. 

**What  am  I  going  to  do?''  she  kept  on  saying  to  her- 
self, as  she  walked  to  and  fro  in  this  solitude.  **What  am 
I  going  to  do  ?  " 

It  was  a  strange  thing,  perhaps,  that  even  at  this 
moment  Baroudi,  the  man  at  a  distance,  frightened  her 
more  than  Isaacson,  the  man  who  was  near.  She  did  not 
know  what  either  was  going  to  do.  She  was  the  prey  of  a 
double  uncertainty.  Isaacson,  she  supposed,  would  bring 
her  husband  back  to  health,  unless  even  now  she  found 
means  to  get  rid  of  him.  And  Baroudi,  what  would  he  do? 
She  looked  across  the  river  and  saw  the  blue  light.    Why 


BELLA  DONNA  481 

was  the  Loulia  tied  up  there?  Was  Baroudi  coming  up 
to  join  her? 

If  he  did  come!  She  walked  faster,  quite  unconscious 
"hhat  she  had  quickened  her  pace.  If  he  did  come  she  felt 
now  that  she  could  no  longer  be  obedient.  She  would  have 
to  see  him,  have  to  force  him  to  come  out  from  his  deep 
mystery  of  the  Eastern  mind  and  take  notice  of  what  she 
was  feeling.  His  magnificent  selfishness  had  dominated 
hers.  But  she  was  becoming  desperate.  The  thought  of 
her  wrecked  beauty  haunted  her  always,  though  she  was 
perpetually  thrusting  it  away  from  her.  She  was  resolved 
to  think  that  there  was  very  little  change  in  her  appear- 
ance, and  that  such  change  as  there  was  would  only  be 
temporary.  A  little,  only  a  little  of  what  she  wanted,  and 
surely  the  Indian  summer  would  return. 

And  then  she  thought  of  Meyer  Isaacson  up  there  in 
the  house  close  to  her,  with  his  horribly  acute  eyes  that 
proclaimed  his  horribly  acute  brain.  That  man  could  be 
pitiless,  but  not  to  Nigel.  And  could  he  ever  be  pitiless 
to  her  without  being  pitiless  to  Nigel? 

She  looked  at  the  water,  and  now  stood  still. 

If  Baroudi  were  on  board  the  Loulia  to-night,  she  would 
get  a  boat  and  go  to  him — would  not  she? — and  say  she 
could  not  stand  her  life  any  longer,  that  she  must  be  with 
him.  She  would  let  him  treat  her  as  he  chose.  Thinking 
of  Nigel's  kindness  at  this  moment  she  actually  longed 
for  cruelty  from  Baroudi. 

But  she  must  be  with  him. 

If  she  could  only  be  with  Baroudi  anywhere,  anyhow, 
she  would  throw  the  memory  of  this  hateful  life  with  Nigel 
away  for  ever.  She  would  never  give  Nigel  another 
thought.    There  would  be  no  time  to  waste  over  that, 

*  *  But  what  am  I  going  to  do  ?    What  am  I  going  to  do  ?  " 

That  sentence  came  back  to  her  mind.  Flights  of  the 
imagination  were  useless.  It  was  no  use  now  to  give  the 
reins  to  imagination. 

Baroudi  must  come  up  the  river.  He  must  be  comincj 
up,  or  the  Loulia  would  surely  not  be  tied  up  against  the 
31 


482  BELLA  DONNA 

western  shore.  But  perhaps  she  was  there  only  for  th« 
night.    Perhaps  she  would  sail  on  the  morrow. 

Mrs.  Armine  felt  that  if  the  next  morning  the  Loiilia 
was  gone  she  would  be  unable  to  remain  in  Luxor.  She 
would  have  to  take  the  train  and  go.  Where  ?  Anywhere ! 
To  Cairo.  She  could  make  some  excuse ;  that  she  must  get 
some  clothes,  mourning  for  Harwich.  That  would  do.  She 
would  say  she  was  going  only  for  a  couple  of  days.  Nigel 
would  let  her  go.    And  Meyer  Isaacson? 

What  he  wished  and  what  he  meant  in  regard  to  her 
Mrs.  Armine  did  not  know.  And  just  at  this  moment  she 
scarcely  cared.  The  return  to  the  villa  and  the  departure 
of  the  Laulia  seemed  to  have  fanned  the  fire  within  her. 
While  she  was  on  the  Loulia,  in  an  enclosed  place,  rather 
like  a  beautiful  prison,  she  had  succeeded  in  concentrating 
herself  to  a  certain  extent  on  matters  in  hand.  She  had 
had  frightful  hours  of  ennui  and  almost  of  despair,  but 
she  had  got  through  them  somehow.  And  she  had  been 
in  command. 

Now  Nigel  had  been  taken  forcibly  out  of  her  hands, 
and  the  beautiful  prison  was  no  more  theirs.  And  this 
return  to  the  home  which  had  seen  the  opening  of  her  life 
in  Egypt  strangely  excited  her.  Once  again  the  Loulia 
lay  there  where  she  had  lain  when  Baroudi  was  on  board  of 
her;  once  again  from  the  bank  of  the  Nile  Mrs.  Armine 
heard  the  song  of  Allah  in  the  distance,  as  on  that  night 
when  she  heard  it  first,  and  it  was  a  serenade  to  her.  But 
how  much  had  happened  between  then  and  now ! 

Now  in  the  house  behind  her  there  were  two  men — the 
man  who  did  not  know  her  and  loved  her,  and  the  man 
who  did  know  her  and  hated  her. 

But  the  man  who  knew  her,  and  who  had  wanted  her 
just  as  she  was — he  was  not  there. 

She  felt  that  she  must  see  him  again,  quickly,  that  she 
must  tell  him  all  that  had  happened  since  she  had  set  sail 
on  the  Loulia.  And  yet  could  she,  dared  she,  leave  Nigel 
alone  with  Meyer  Isaacson? 

She  paced  again  on  the  sand,  passing  and  repassing  in 
front  of  the  darkness  of  the  bushes. 


BELLA  DONNA  483 

When  Isaacson  had  stood  before  her  in  the  temple  of 
Edfou,  she  had  had  a  moment  of  absolute  terror — such  a 
moment  as  can  only  come  once  in  a  life.  A  period  of  fear 
and  of  struggle,  of  agony  even,  had  followed.  Yet  in 
that  period  there  had  been  no  moment  quite  so  frightful. 
For  she  had  confronted  the  known,  not  the  utterly  unex- 
pected, and  she  had  been  fighting,  and  still  she  must  fight. 

But  she  must  have  a  word  from  Baroudi,  a  look  from 
Baroudi.  Without  these,  she  felt  as  if  she  might — as  if  she 
must  do  something  stupid  or  desperate.  She  was  coming 
to  the  end  of  her  means,  to  the  limit  of  her  powers,  perhaps. 

The  hardest  blow  she  had  had  as  yet  had  been  Doctor 
Hartley's  escape  out  of  the  circle  of  her  influence.  That 
escape  had  weakened  her  self-confidence,  had  been  a  catas- 
trophe surely  grimly  prophetic  of  other  catastrophes  to 
come.  It  had  even  put  into  her  mind  a  doubt  that  was 
surely  absurd. 

Suppose  Nigel  were  to  emancipate  himself! 

If  he  were  gone,  she  would  care  nothing.  She  would 
not  w^ant  Nigel  to  regret  her.  If  she  were  gone,  in  a  day 
he  would  be  as  one  dead  to  her.  He  meant  nothing  to  her 
except  a  weight  that  dragged  upon  her,  keeping  her  from 
all  that  she  was  fitted  for,  from  all  that  she  desired.  But 
while  she  remained  with  Nigel,  her  influence  must  be  para- 
mount. For  Isaacson  was  at  his  elbow  to  take  advantage 
of  every  opening.  And  she  was  sure  Isaacson  would  give 
her  no  mercy,  if  once  he  got  Nigel  on  his  side. 

What  was  she  to  do?    What  was  she  to  do? 

Secretly  she  cursed  with  her  whole  heart  now  the  coldly 
practical,  utterly  self-interested  side  of  Baroudi 's  nature. 
But  she  was  afraid  to  defy  it.     She  remembered  his  words : 

"We  have  to  do  what  we  want  in  the  world  without 
losing  anything  by  it." 

And  she  saw  him — how  often! — going  in  at  the  tent- 
door  through  which  streamed  light,  to  join  the  painted 
odalisque. 

She  was  reaching  the  limit  of  her  endurance  She  felt 
that  strongly  to-night. 


484  BELLA  DONNA 

On  the  day  of  their  return  to  the  villa  Hamza  had 
mysteriously  left  them,  without  a  word. 

Two  or  three  times  Nigel  had  asked  for  him.  She  had 
said  at  first  that  he  had  gone  to  see  his  family.  Afterwards 
she  had  said  that  he  stayed  away  because  he  was  offended 
at  not  being  allowed  any  more  to  wait  upon  his  master: 
"Doctor  Isaacson's  orders,  you  know!*'  And  Nigel  had 
answered  nothing.  "Where  w^as  Hamza?  'Mrs.  Armine  had 
asked  Ibrahim.  But  Ibrahim,  without  a  smile,  had  answered 
that  he  knew  nothing  of  Hamza,  and  in  Mrs.  Armine 's 
heart  had  been  growing  the  hope  that  Hamza  had  gone  to 
seek  Baroudi,  that  perhaps  he  would  presently  return  with 
a  message  from  Baroudi. 

And  yet  could  any  good,  any  happiness,  ever  come  to 
her  through  the  praying  donkey-boy  ?  Always  she  instinc- 
tively connected  him  with  fatality,  with  evil  followed  by 
sorrow.  The  look  in  his  eyes  when  they  were  turned  upon 
her  seemed  like  a  quiet  but  steady  menace.  She  had  a 
secret  conviction  that  he  hated  her,  perhaps  because  she 
was  what  he  would  caU  a  Christian.  Strange  if  she  were 
really  hated  for  such  a  reason ! 

Once  more  she  stood  still  by  the  edge  of  the  river. 

She  heard  the  sailors  still  singing  on  the  Loulia,  the  faint 
barking  of  dogs,  perhaps  from  the  village  of  Luxor.  She 
looked  up  at  the  stars  mechanically,  and  remembered  how 
Nigel  had  gazed  at  them  when  she  had  wanted  him  to  be 
wholly  intent  upon  her.  Then  she  looked  again,  for  a  long 
time,  at  the  blue  light  which  shone  from  the  Low^ia '5  mast- 
head. 

Behind  her  the  bushes  rustled.  She  turned  sharply 
round.  Ibrahim  came  towards  her  from  the  tangled  dark- 
ness. 

**What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  asked  him.  She  spoke 
almost  roughly.    The  noise  had  startled  her. 

**My  lady,  you  better  come  in,"  said  Ibrahim.  **Very 
lonely  heeyah.    No  peoples  comin '  heeyah ! ' ' 

She  moved  towards  the  bank.  He  put  his  hand  gently 
nnder  her  elbow  to  assist  her.  When  they  were  at  the  top 
she  said: 


BELLA  DONNA  485 

'*Wliere's  Hamza,  Ibrahim?" 

Ibrahim's  boyish  face  looked  grim. 

*'I   dunno,   my   lady.     I  know  nothin'   at   all   about 

mza. ' ' 

For  the  first  time  it  occurred  to  Mrs.  Armine  that 
Ibrahim  and  Hamza  were  no  longer  good  friends.  She 
opened  her  lips  to  make  some  enquiry  about  their  relation. 
But  she  shut  them  again  without  saying  anything,  and  in 
silence  they  walked  to  the  house. 

On  the  following  morning,  when  ]\Irs.  Armine  looked 
out  of  her  window,  the  Loulia  still  lay  opposite.  She  took 
glasses  to  see  if  there  was  any  movement  of  the  crew  sug- 
gestive of  impending  departure.  But  all  seemed  quiet. 
The  men  were  squatting  on  the  lower  deck  in  happy 
idleness. 

Then  Baroudi  must  presently  be  coming. 

She  decided  to  be  patient  a  little  longer,  not  to  make 
that  excuse  to  go  to  Cairo.  With  the  morning  she  felt,  she 
did  not  know  w^hy,  more  able  to  endure  present  conditions. 

But  as  day  followed  day  and  Baroudi  made  no  sign,. 
and  the  Loulia  lay  always  by  the  western  shore  with  the 
shutters  closed  over  the  cabin  windows,  the  intense  irrita- 
tion of  her  nerves  returned,  and  grew  with  each  succeeding 
hour. 

Isaacson  had  not  gone  to  stay  at  an  hotel,  but  had,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  taken  up  his  abode  at  the  villa,  and  he 
continued  to  live  there.  She  was  obliged  to  see  him  per- 
petually, obliged  to  behave  to  him  with  politeness,  if  not 
with  suavity.  His  watch  over  Nigel  was  tireless.  The  rule 
lie  had  made  at  the  beginning  of  his  stay  was  not  relaxed. 
Nigel  was  not  allowed  to  take  anything  from  any  hand  but 
the  Doctor's. 

The  relation  between  Doctor  and  patient  was  still  a 
curious  and  even  an  awkward  one.  Although  Nigel's  trust 
in  the  Doctor  was  absolute,  he  had  never  returned  to  his 
former  pleasant  intimacy  with  his  friend.  At  first  I'a'v^c 
son  had  secretly  anticipated  a  gradual  growth  of  personal 
confidence,  had  thought  that  as  weakness  declined,  as  a 


486  BELLA  DONNA 

little  strength  began  to  bud  out  almost  timidly  in  the  poor, 
tormented  body,  Nigel  would  revert,  perhaps  unconsciously, 
to  a  happier  or  more  friendly  mood.  But  though  the  Doctor 
was  offered  the  gratitude  of  the  patient,  the  friend  was 
never  offered  the  cordiality  of  the  friend. 

Bella  Donna's  influence  was  stubborn.  Between  these 
two  men  the  woman  always  stood,  dividing  them,  even  now 
when  the  one  was  ministering  to  the  other,  was  bringing  the 
other  back  to  life,  was  giving  up  everything  for  the  other. 

For  this  prolonged  stay  in  Egypt  was  likely  to  prove  a 
serious  thing  to  Isaacson.  Not  only  was  he  losing  much 
money  by  it  now.  Probably,  almost  certainly,  he  would 
lose  money  by  it  in  the  future.  There  were  moments 
when  he  thought  about  this  witli  a  secret  vexation.  But 
they  passed,  and  quickly.  He  had  his  reward  in  the  grow- 
ing strength  of  the  sick  man.  Yet  sometimes  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  bear  the  almost  stony  reservvi  which  took  the  colour 
out  of  his  life  in  the  Villa  Androud.  It  would  have  been 
more  difficult  still  if  he  too,  like  Bella  Donna,  had  not 
had  his  work  to  do  in  the  dark.  Since  they  had  arrived  in 
Luxor  he  had  been  seeking  for  a  motive.  The  moment  came 
when  at  last  he  found  it. 

Prompted  by  him,  Hassan  played  upon  Ibrahim 's  indig- 
nation at  having  been  supplanted  for  so  long  by  Hamza, 
and  drew  from  him  the  truth  of  Mrs.  Armine's  days  while 
Nigel  had  been  away  in  the  Fayyum. 

Isaacson 's  treatment  of  Nigel 's  case  had  succeeded  won- 
derfully. As  the  great  heats  began  to  descend  upon  Upper 
Egypt,  the  health  of  the  invalid  improved  day  by  day. 
Mrs.  Armine  saw  life  returning  into  the  eyes  that  had 
expressed  a  sick  weariness  of  an  existence  suddenly  over- 
cast by  the  cloud  of  suffering.  The  limbs  moved  more 
easily  as  a  greater  vitality  was  shed  through  the  body. 
The  nights  were  no  longer  made  a  torment  by  the  acute 
rheumatic  pains.  The  parched  mouth  and  throat  craved 
no  more  perpetually  for  the  cooling  drinks  that  had  not 
allayed  their  misery.  Light  could  be  borne  without  any 
grave  discomfort,  and  the  agonizing  abdominal  pains,  which 


BELLA  DONNA  487 

had  made  the  Tictim  writhe  and  almost  desire  death,  had 
entirely  subsided.  From  the  face,  too,  the  dreadful  hue 
which  had  even  struck  those  who  had  only  seen  Nigel 
casually  had  nearly  departed.  Though  still  very  thin  and 
pale,  it  did  not  look  unnatural.  It  was  now  the  face  of  a 
man  who  had  recently  suffered,  and  suffered  much;  it  was 
not  a  face  that  suggested  the  grave. 

Nigel  would  recover,  was  fast  recovering.  He  would 
not  be  strong  for  a  time,  perhaps  for  a  long  time.  But  he 
was  *'out  of  the  wood.*'  One  day  he  realized  it,  and  told 
himself  so,  silently,  with  a  sort  of  wonder  mingled  with  a 
joy  half  solemn,  half  lively  with  the  liveliness  of  the  spirit 
that  again  felt  the  touch  of  youth. 

The  day  that  he  realized  it  was  the  day  that  Isaacson 
found  the  motive  he  had  in  the  dark  been  seeking. 

And  on  that  day,  too,  Mrs.  Armine  told  herself  that 
she  could  endure  no  longer.  She  must  get  away  to  Cairo, 
if  only  for  two  or  three  days.  If  Baroudi  was  not  there, 
she  must  go  to  Alexandria  and  seek  him.  Baffled  desire, 
enforced  patience,  the  perpetual  presence  of  Meyer  Isaac- 
son, with  whom  she  was  obliged  to  keep  up  a  pretence  of 
civility  and  even  of  gratitude,  and  the  jealousy  that  grows 
like  a  rank  weed  in  the  soil  of  ignorance,  rendered  her  at 
last  almovst  reckless.  She  was  sure  if  she  remained  longer 
in  the  villa  she  would  betray  herself  by  some  sudden  out- 
burst. Isaacson  had  kept  silence  so  long  as  to  the  cause  of 
her  husband's  illness  that  she  sometimes  nearly  deceived 
herself  into  thinking  he  did  not  know  what  it  was.  Perhaps 
she  had  been  a  fool  to  be  so  much  afraid  of  him.  She 
strove  to  think  so,  and  nearly  succeeded. 

The  Loulia  lay  always  by  the  western  shore  of  the  Nile, 
Ijut  each  night,  when  she  looked  from  the  garden,  the 
cabin  windows  were  dark.  She  had  made  enquiries  of 
Ibrahim.  But  Ibrahim  was  no  longer  the  smiling,  boyish 
attendant  who  had  been  her  slave.  He  performed  his  duties 
carefully,  and  was  always  elaborately  polite,  but  he  had  an 
air  of  secrecy,  of  uneasiness,  and  almost  of  gloom,  and 
when  she  mentioned  Baroudi,  he  said: 


188  BELLA  DONNA 

*'My  lady,  I  know  nothin'." 

* '  Well,  but  on  the  Loulia  f ' '  she  persisted.  *  *  The  Reis— 
the  crew ?" 

''They  knows  nothin*.  Nobody  heeyah  know  nothin' 
at  alL" 

Then  she  resolved  to  wait  no  longer,  but  to  go  and  find 
out  for  herself.  Perhaps  it  was  the  look  of  returning  life 
in  the  eyes  of  her  husband  which  finally  decided  her. 

She  came  out  on  to  the  terrace  where  he  was  stretched 
in  a  long  chair  under  an  awning.  A  book  lay  on  one  of  the 
arms  of  the  chair,  but  he  was  not  reading  it.  He  was  just 
lying  there  and  looking  out  to  the  garden,  and  to  the  hills 
that  edge  the  desert  of  Libya.  Isaacson  was  not  with  him. 
He  had  gone  away  somewhere,  perhaps  for  a  stroll  on  the 
bank  of  the  Nile. 

Mrs.  Armine  sauntered  up,  with  an  indolent,  careless 
air,  and  sat  down  near  her  husband. 

''Dreaming?'*  she  said,  in  her  sweetest  voice. 

He  shook  his  head. 

* 'Waking!"  he  answered.     "Waking  up  to  life.'* 

"You  do  look  much  stronger  to-day." 

"Stronger  than  yesterday?"  he  said,  eagerly.  "You 
think  so?    You  notice  it.  Ruby?" 

"Yes." 

"That's  strange.  To-day  I — I  know  that  all  is  going  to 
be  right  with  me.  To-day  I  know  that  presently — Ruby, 
think  of  it! — I  shall  be  the  man  I  once  was." 

"And  I  know  it,  too,  Nigel — ^to-day — and  that  is  why  at 
last  I  feel  I  can  ask  you  something." 

"Anything — anything.  I  would  do  anything  to  please 
you  after  all  this  time  of  misery,  and  dulness  for  you!" 

"It's  a  prosaic  little  request  I  have  to  make.  I  only 
want  you  to  let  me  take  the  night  train  and  run  up  tc 
Cairo." 

His  face  fell.    He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  touch  hers 

"Go  away!    Go  to  Cairo!"  he  said. 

And  his  voice  was  reluctant. 

"Yes,  Nigel,"  she  said,  with  gentle  firmness.     "I*ve 


BELLA  DONNA  489 

been  looking  over  my  wardrobe  these  last  days,  and  I'm 
simply  in  rags." 

*'But  your  dresses '' 

*  *  It 's  not  only  my  dresses — I  really  am  in  rags.  Won 't 
you  let  me  go  just  for  two  days  to  get  a  few  things  I 
actually  need  ?    I  'm  not  gomg  to  spend  a  lot  of  money. ' ' 

''As  if  it  was  that!" 

He  pressed  her  hand,  and  his  pressure  showed  his  re- 
turning strength. 

''It's  being  without  you.*' 

*'For  two  days.  And  you'll  have  Doctor  Isaacson.  I 
want  to  go  while  he  is  still  with  us,  so  as  not  to  leave  you 
alone.  And  Nigel,  while  I'm  gone,  can't  you  manage  to 
find  out  what  we  owe  him  ?    It  must  be  an  enormous  sum. ' ' 

Nigel  suddenly  looked  preoccupied. 

**I'd  never  thought  of  that,"  he  said,  slowly. 

*'No,  because  you've  been  ill.  But  I  have  often.  And 
you  must  think  of  it  now." 

"Yes;  he's  saved  my  life.  I  can  never  really  repay 
him." 

*'0h,  yes,  you  can.  Doctors  do  these  things  for  fixed 
sums,  you  know." 

He  shifted  in  his  chair,  and  sent  an  uneasy  glance  to 
her. 

"I  wish — how  I  wish  that  you  and  Isaacson  could  be 
better  friends ! "  he  dropped  out,  at  length. 

"After  all  I've  told  you!"  she  exclaimed,  almost  with 
bitterness. 

' '  I  know,  I  know.    But  now  that  he 's  saved  my  life ! ' ' 

"There  are  some  things  a  woman  can  never  forget, 
Nigel.  I — of  course,  I  am  deeply  grateful  to  Meyer  Isaac- 
son, the  doctor.  But  Meyer  Isaacson  the  man  I  never  can 
be  friends  with.  I  must  always  tell  you  the  truth,  even  if 
it  hurts  you." 

"Yes,  yes." 

"While  I'm  in  Cairo,  find  out  what  we  owe  him.  For 
I  suppose  now  you  feel  so  much  better  he  won't  remain  with 
•us  for  ever." 


490  BELLA  DONNA 

"No,  of  course  he  must  be  wanting  to  go." 

He  spoke  with  hesitation.  With  the  blameless  selfish- 
ness of  a  sick  man,  he  had  taken  a  great  deal  for  granted. 
She  was  making  him  feel  that  now.  And  he  had  to  take 
it  all  in.  IIow  he  depended  on  Isaacson !  He  looked  at  his 
wife.  And  how  he  depended  on  her,  too !  He  was  conscious 
again  of  his  weakness,  almost  as  a  child  might  be.  And 
these  two  human  beings  upon  whom  he  was  leaning  were  at 
enmity,  not  open  but  secret  enmity.  He  did  not  know 
exactly  how,  or  how  much !  But  Ruby  had  told  him  often 
— ^things  about  Meyer  Isaacson.  And  he  knew  that  Isaacson 
had  mistrusted  her,  and  felt  that  he  did  so  still. 

' '  I  may  go,  then  ? ' '  she  said. 

He  could  not  in  reason  forbid  her.  He  thought  of  hei 
long  service. 

*'0f  course,  dearest,  go.  But  surely  you  aren't  going, 
to-night?'* 

*'If  you'll  let  me.  I  shall  only  take  a  bag.  And  the 
sooner  I  go,  the  sooner  I  shall  be  back.' 

''In  two  days?'' 

*'In  two  days." 

"And  where  will  you  stay?" 

"At  Shepheard's." 

"I  don't  like  your  going  alone.  I  wish  you  had  a 
maid " 

"You've  guessed  it!"  she  said. 

"What?" 

He  looked  almost  startled. 

* '  I  didn  't  like  to  tell  you,  but  I  will  now.  May  I  have  a 
maid  again?" 

"That's  what  you  want,  to  get  a  maid?" 

She  smiled,  and  looked  almost  shy. 
"I've  done  splendidly  without  one.     But  still " 

From  that  moment  he  only  pressed,  begged  her  to  go. 

Isaacson  returned  to  find  it  was  all  settled.  When  he 
was  told,  he  only  said,  "I  think  it  wonderful  that  Mrs. 
Armine  has  managed  without  a  maid  for  so  long." 

Soon  afterwards  he  went  to  his  room,  and  was  shut  in 


BELLA  DONNA  491 

there  for  a  considerable  time.  He  said  he  had  letters  to 
write.    Yet  he  sent  no  letters  to  the  post  that  day. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Armine,  with  the  assistance  of  one  of 
the  Nubians,  was  packing  a  few  things.  Now  that  at  last 
she  was  going  to  do  something  definite,  she  marvelled  that 
she  had  been  able  to  endure  her  life  of  waiting  so  long. 
This  movement  and  planning  in  connection  with  a  journey 
roused  in  her  a  secret  excitement  that  was  feverish. 

' '  If  only  I  were  going  away  for  ever ! ' '  she  thought,  as 
she  went  about  her  dressing-room.  '*If  only  I  were  never 
to  see  my  husband  and  Isaacson  again ! ' ' 

And  with  that  thought  she  paused  and  stood  stilL 

Suppose  it  really  were  so !  Suppose  she  found  Baroudi, 
told  him  all  that  had  happened,  told  him  her  misery,  begged 
him  to  let  her  remain  with  him!  He  might  be  kind.  He 
might  for  once  yield  to  her  wishes  instead  of  imposing  upon 
her  his  commands.  There  would  be  a  great  scandal;  but 
what  of  that?  She  did  not  care  any  longer  for  public 
opinion.  She  only  wanted  now  to  escape  from  all  that 
reminded  her  of  Europe,  of  her  former  life,  to  sink  into 
the  bosom  of  the  East  and  be  lost  in  it  for  ever.  The  far 
future  was  nothing  to  her.  All  she  thought  about,  all  she 
cared  for,  was  to  escape  at  once  and  have  the  one  thing 
she  wanted,  the  thing  for  which  the  whole  of  her  clamoured 
unceasingly.  She  was  obsessed  by  the  one  idea,  as  only  the 
woman  of  her  temperament,  arrived  at  her  critical  age,  can 
be  obsessed. 

She  might  never  come  back.  This  might  be  her  last  day 
with  Nigel. 

In  his  room  near  to  hers,  Isaacson  was  sitting  on  his 
balcony,  smoking  the  nargeeleh,  and  thinking  that,  too.  He 
was  not  at  all  sure,  but  he  was  inclined  to  believe  that  this 
departure  of  Bella  Donna  was  going  to  be  a  flight.  Ought 
he  to  allow  her  to  go  ?  Instead  of  writing  those  letters,  he 
was  pondering,  considering  this.  It  was  his  duty,  he  sup- 
posed, not  to  allow  her  to  go.  If  everything  were  to  be 
known,  people,  the  world  would  say  that  he  ought  to  have 
acted  already,  that  in  any  case  he  ought  to  act  now.    But 


492  BELLA  DONNA 

he  was  not  bothering  about  the  world.  He  was  thinking 
of  his  friend,  how  to  do  the  best  thing  by  him. 

When  he  took  his  long  fingers  from  the  nargeeleh  he 
had  decided  that  he  would  let  Bella  Donna  go. 

And  that  evening,  a  little  before  sunset,  she  kissed  her 
husband  and  bade  him  good-bye,  wondering  whether  she 
would  ever  see  him  again.  Then  she  held  out  her  hand  to 
Meyer  Isaacson. 

** Good-bye,  Doctor!  Take  great  care  of  him,*'  she  said, 
lightly. 

Isaacson  took  her  hand.  Again  now,  at  this  critical 
moment,  despite  his  afternoon's  decision,  he  said  to  himself » 
not  only  ' '  Ought  I  to  let  her  go  r '  but'*  Shall  I  let  her  go  T ' 
And  the  influence  of  the  latter  question  in  his  mind  caused 
him  unconsciously  to  grasp  her  hand  arbitrarily,  as  if  he 
meant  to  detain  her.  Instantly  there  came  into  her  eyes 
the  look  he  had  seen  in  them  when  in  the  sanctuary  of 
Edfou  she  had  stood  face  to  face  with  him — a  look  of 
startled  terror. 

*'You  promise  only  to  stay  two  days,  Ruby?" 

Nigel's  voice  spoke. 

**You  promise?" 

**I  promise  faithfully,  Nigel,"  she  said,  with  her  eyea 
on  Isaacson. 

Isaacson  dropped  her  hand.  She  sighed,  and  went  out 
quickly. 

XLII 

The  departure  of  ^Irs.  Armine  brought  to  Meyer  Isaac- 
son a  sudden  and  immense  feeling  of  relief.  When  he 
looked  at  his  watch  and  knew  that  the  train  for  Cairo  had 
left  the  station  of  Luxor,  when  half  an  hour  later  Ibrahim 
came  in  to  tell  Nigel  that  **my  lady"  had  gone  off  *'very 
nice  indeed,"  he  was  for  a  time  almost  joyous,  as  a  man  is 
joyous  who  has  got  rid  of  a  heavy  burden,  or  who  is  unex- 
pectedly released  from  some  cruel  prison  of  circumstance. 
How  much  the  enforced  companionship  with  Mrs.  Armine 


BELLA  DONNA  495 

had  oppressed  him  he  understood  fully  now.  And  it  was 
difficult  for  him  to  realize,  more  difficult  still  for  him  to 
sympathize  with,  Nigel 's  obvious  regret  at  his  wife 's  going, 
obvious  longing  for  her  to  be  back  again  by  his  side. 

Isaacson's  sympathy  was  not  asked  for  by  Nigel.  Here 
the  strong  reserve  existing  between  the  two  men  naturally 
stepped  in.  Isaacson  strove  to  dissimulate  his  joy,  Nigel  to 
dissimulate  his  feeling  of  sudden  loneliness.  But  either 
Isaacson  played  his  part  the  better,  or  his  powers  of  obser- 
vation were  far  more  developed  than  Nigel's;  for  whereas 
he  saw  with  almost  painful  clearness  the  state  of  his 
friend's  mind  on  that  first  evening  of  their  dual  solitude, 
Nigel  only  partially  guessed  at  his,  or  very  faintly  sus- 
pected it. 

Their  dinner  together  threatened  at  first  to  be  dreary. 
For  Mrs.  Armine's  going,  instead  of  breaking  down,  had 
consolidated  for  the  moment  the  reserve  between  them.  But 
Isaacson's  inner  joyousness,  however  carefully  concealed, 
made  its  influence  felt,  as  joy  will.  Without  quite  knowing 
why,  Nigel  presently  began  to  thaw.  Isaacson  turned  the 
conversation,  which  had  stumbled,  had  halted,  to  Nigel's 
condition  of  health,  and  then  Nigel  said,  as  he  had  already 
said  to  his  wife : 

''To-day  I  feel  that  I  am  waking  up  to  life.*' 

''Only  to-day?"  said  the  Doctor. 

* '  Oh,  I  've  been  feeling  better  and  better,  but  to-day  it 's 
as  if  a  door  that  had  been  creaking  on  its  hinges  was  flung 
wide  open.'* 

"I'm  not  surprised.  These  sudden  leaps  forward  are 
often  a  feature  of  convalescence." 

"They — they  aren't  followed  by  falling  back,  are 
they  ? ' '  Nigel  asked,  with  a  sudden  change  to  uneasiness. 

"Sometimes,  in  fever  cases  especially.  But  in  a  case 
like  yours  we  needn't  anticipate  anything  of  that  kind." 

The  last  words  seemed  to  suggest  to  Nigel  some  train 
of  thought,  and  after  sitting  in  silence  two  or  three  min- 
utes, looking  grave  and  rather  preoccupied,  he  said : 

"By  the  way,  what  has  been  the  matter  with  me, 


494  BELLA  DONNA 

exactly  ?  What  kave  I  really  had  in  the  way  of  an  illness  S 
All  this  time  I've  been  so  occupied  in  being  ill  that  I've 
never  asked  you." 

The  last  words  were  said  with  an  attempt  at  lightness. 

^'Have  ir'  he  added. 

**No,  I  don't  think  you  have,"  said  Isaacson,  in  a  voice 
that  suggested  a  nature  at  that  moment  certainly  not 
inclined  to  be  communicative. 

''Has  it  been  all  sunstroke?  But — but  I'm  sure  it 
hasn't. 

''No,  I  shouldn't  put  it  down  entirely  to  sunstroke. 
Hartley  wasn't  quite  right  there,  I  think." 

"Well,  then?" 

Nigel  had  found  a  safe  topic  for  conversation,  or 
thought  he  had.  It  was  sufficiently  evident  that  he  felt 
more  at  ease,  and  perhaps  he  was  atoning  for  former 
indifference  as  to  the  cause  of  his  misery  by  a  real  and 
keen  interest  about  it  now. 

' '  You  were  unwell,  you  see,  before  you  went  out  digging 
without  a  hat.    Weren't  you?" 

"Yes,  that  bath  in  the  Nile  near  Kous.  It  seemed  all 
to  begin  somewhere  about  then.  But  d'you  know,  though 
I've  never  said  so,  even  to  you,  I  believe  I  really  was  not 
quite  myself  when  I  took  that  dip.  I  think  it  was  because 
of  that  I  got  the  chill." 

"Very  possibly." 

"When  I  started,  I  was  splendidly  well.  I  mean  when 
we  went  on  board  of  the  Loulia.  It's  as  if  it  was  something 
to  do  with  that  boat.  I  believe  I  began  to  go  down  the  hill 
very  soon  ztfter  we  started  on  her.  But  it  was  all  so 
gradual  that  I  scarcely  noticed  anything  at  first.  My  bath 
made  things  worse,  and  then  the  digging  fairly  finished 
me." 

"Ah!" 

The  last  course  of  the  very  light  dinner  was  put  on  the 
table.  Isaacson  poured  out  some  Vichy  water  and  began 
to  squeeze  the  juice  of  half  a  lemon  into  it.  Nigel  sat 
watching  the  process,  which  was  very  careful  and  deliberate. 


BELLA  DONNA  495 

**You  don't  tell  me  what  exactly  has  been  the  matter/' 
he  said,  at  last. 

** You've  had  such  a  complication  of  symptoms." 

"That  you  mean  it's  impossible  to  give  a  name  that 
covers  them  all?'' 

Isaacson  squeezed  the  last  drop  abaiost  tenderly  into 
the  tumbler,  took  up  his  napkin,  and  carefully  dried  his 
long,  brown  fingers. 

"  'What's  in  a  name?'  "  he  quoted. 

He  looked  across  the  table  at  Nigel,  and  questions 
seemed  to  be  shining  in  his  eyes. 

**Do  you  mean  that  you  don't  want  to  tell  me  the 
name  ? ' '  Nigel  said. 

It  seemed  that  he  was  roused  to  persistence.  Either 
curiosity  or  some  other  feeling  was  awakened  within  him. 

"I  don't  say  that.  But  you  know  we  doctors  often  go 
cautiously — we  don't  care  to  commit  ourselves." 

** Hartley,  yes.      But  that  isn't  true  of  you." 

He  paused. 

**You  are  hedging,"  he  said,  bluntly. 

Isaacson  drank  the  Vichy  and  lemon.  He  put  down 
the  glass. 

' '  You  are  hedging, ' '  Nigel  repeated.    * '  Why  ? ' ' 

*' Isn't  it  enough  for  you  to  get  well?  What  good  will 
t  do  you  to  know  what  you  have  been  suffering  from?" 

"Good!  But  isn't  it  natural  that  I  should  wish  to 
know?    Why  should  there  be  any  mystery  about  it?" 

He  stopped.  Then,  leaning  forward  a  little  with  one 
Jirm  on  the  table,  he  said: 

"Does  my  wife  know  what  it  is?" 

"I've  never  told  her,"  Isaacson  answered. 

"Well,  but  does  she  know?" 

The  voice  that  asked  was  almost  suspicious.  And  the 
eyes  that  regarded  Isaacson  were  now  suspicious,  too. 

"How  can  I  tell?  She  told  me  she  supposed  it  to  be 
a  sunstroke." 

"That  was  Hartley's  nonsense.  Hartley  put  that  idea 
into  her  head.  But  since  you  came,  of  course  she's  realized 
there  was  more  in  it  than  that." 


496  BELLA  DONNA 

**I  dare  say." 

Nigel  waited,  as  if  expecting  something  more.  But 
Isaacson  kept  silence.  Dinner  was  over.  Nigel  got  up, 
and  walking  steadily,  though  not  yet  with  the  brisk  light- 
ness of  complete  strength  and  buoyancy,  led  the  way  to  the 
drawing-room. 

*' Shall  we  sit  out  on  the  terrace  T* 

*'If  you  like.  But  you  must  have  a  coat.  Ill  fetch 
it.'' 

**0h,  don't  you " 

But  the  doctor  was  gone.  In  a  moment  he  returned 
with  a  coat  and  a  light  rug.  He  helped  Nigel  to  put  the 
coat  on,  took  him  by  the  arm,  led  him  out  to  the  chair,  and, 
when  he  was  in  it,  arranged  the  rug  over  his  knees. 

''You're  awfully  good  to  me,  Isaacson,"  Nigel  said, 
almost  with  softness,  **  awfully  good  to  me.  I  am 
grateful. ' ' 

''That's  all  right." 

"We  were  speaking  about  it  only  to-day,  Ruby  and  I. 
She  was  saying  that  we  mustn't  presume  on  your  kindness 
that  we  mustn't  detain  you  out  here  now  that  I'm  out  of 
the  wood." 

' '  She  wants  to  get  rid  of  me !  Then  she  must  be  coming 
back!"  The  thought  darted  through  Isaacson's  brain, 
upsetting  a  previously  formed  conviction  which,  to  a  certain 
extent,  had  guided  his  conduct  during  dinner. 

' '  Oh,  I  'm  in  no  hurry, ' '  he  said,  carelessly.  ' '  I  want  to 
get  you  quite  strong." 

"Yes,  but  your  patients  in  London!  You  know  I've 
been  feeling  so  ill  that  I've  been  beai3tly  selfish.  I've 
thought  only  of  myself.  I've  made  a  slave  of  my  wife,  and 
now  I've  been  keeping  you  out  of  London  all  this  time." 

As  he  spoke,  his  voice  grew  warmer.  His  reserve  seemed 
to  be  melting,  the  friend  to  be  stirring  in  the  patient. 
Although  certainly  he  did  not  realize  it,  the  absence  of  his 
wife  had  already  made  a  difference  in  his  feeling  towards 
Isaacson.  Her  perpetual  silent  hostility  was  like  an  emana- 
tion that  insensibly  affected  her  husband.     Now  that  was 


BELLA  DONNA  497 

wicMrawn  to  a  distance,  he  reverted  instinctively  towards 
— ^not  yet  to — the  old  relation  with  his  friend.  He  longed 
to  get  rid  of  all  the  difficulty  between  them,  and  this  could 
only  be  done  by  making  Isaacson  understand  Ruby  more 
as  he  understood  her.  If  he  could  only  accomplish  this 
before  Ruby  came  back!  Now  this  idea  came  to  him,  and 
sent  warmth  into  his  voice,  warmth  into  his  manner. 
Isaacson  opened  his  lips  to  make  some  friendly  protest, 
but  Nigel  continued: 

**And  d'you  know  who  made  me  see  my  selfishness — 
realize  how  tremendously  unselfish  youVe  been  in  sticking 
to  me  all  this  time?" 

Isaacson  said  nothing. 

*'My  wife.  She  opened  my  eyes  to  it.  But  for  her  I 
mightn't  have  given  a  thought  to  all  your  loss,  not  only 
your  material  loss,  but " 

Isaacson  felt  as  if  something  poisonous  had  stung  him. 

** Please  don't  speak  of  anything  of  that  kind!"  he 
said. 

"I  know  I  can  never  compensate  you  for  all  youVe  done 
for  us " 

*'0h,  yes,  you  can!" 

The  Doctor's  voice  was  almost  sharp.  Nigel  was  startled 

(yit. 
[    *'We  can?    How?" 
I    **You  can!"  Isaacson  said,  laying  a  heavy  stress  on  the 
bst  word." 
''How?" 
*' First,  by  never  speaking  to  me  of — of  the  usual  'com- 
pensation' patients  make  to  doctors." 

"But  how  can  you  expect  me  to  accept  all  this  devoted 
service  and  make  no  kind  of  return?" 

"Perhaps  you  can  make  me  a  return — ^the  only  return 
I  want." 

"But  what  is  it?" 
"I— I  won't  tell  you  to-night." 
"Then  when  will  you  tell  me?" 

Isaacson  hesitated.    His  face  was  blazing  with  expres- 
32 


498  BELLA  DONNA 

sion.  He  looked  like  a  man  powerfully  stirred — almost  like 
a  man  on  the  edge  of  some  outburst. 

**I  won't  tell  you  to-night,"  he  repeated. 

**But  you  must  tell  me." 

**At  the  proper  time.  You  asked  me  at  dinner  what 
had  been  the  matter  with  you,  what  illness  you  had  been 
suffering  from.  You  observed  that  I  didn't  care  to  tell 
you  then.    Well,  I  '11  tell  you  before  you  get  rid  of  me. ' ' 

^'Getridof  you!" 

**Yes,  yes.  Don't  think  I  misunderstand  what  youVe 
been  trying  to  tell  me  to-night.  You  want  to  convey  to 
me  in  a  friendly  manner  that  now  I've  accomplished  my 
work  it's  time  for  me  to  be  off." 

Nigel  was  deeply  hurt. 

*' Nothing  of  the  sort!"  he  said.  *'It  was  only  that 
my  wife  had  made  me  understand  what  a  terrible  loss  to 
you  remaining  out  here  at  such  a  time  must  be." 

*' There  is  something  I  must  make  you  understand, 
Armine,  before  I  leave  you.  And  when  I've  told  you  what 
it  is,  you  can  give  me  the  only  compensation  I  want,  and 
I  want  it  badly — ^badly!" 

**And  you  won't  tell  me  what  it  is  now?*' 

'*Not  to-night — not  in  a  hurry." 

He  got  up. 

**When  are  you  expecting  Mrs.  Armine  back?"  he  asked. 

**In  four  nights.  She  wants  a  couple  of  full  days  in 
Cairo.    Then  there  are  the  two  night  journeys.'* 

*  *  I  '11  tell  you  before  she  comes  back. '  * 

Isaacson  turned  round,  and  strolled  away  into  the  dark- 
ness of  the  garden. 

When  he  was  alone  there,  he  tacitly  reproached  himself 
for  his  vehemence  of  spirit,  for  the  heat  of  his  temper. 
Yet  surely  they  were  leading  him  in  the  right  path.  These 
words  of  Nigel  had  awakened  him  to  the  very  simple  fact 
that  this  association  must  come  to  an  end,  and  almost  imme- 
diately. He  had  been,  he  supposed  now,  drifting  on  from 
day  to  day,  postponing  any  decision.  Mrs.  Armine  was 
stronger  than  he.    From  her,  through  Nigel,  had  come  to 


BELLA  DONNA  49^ 

Mm  this  access  of  determination,  drawn  really  from  her 
d-ecision.  As  he  knew  this,  he  was  able  secretly  to  admire 
for  a  moment  this  woman  whom  he  actively  hated.  Her 
work  in  the  dark  would  send  him  now  to  work  in  the  light. 

It  was  inevitable.  While  he  had  believed  that  very 
possibly  her  departure  to  Cairo  was  a  flight  from  her  hus- 
band, Isaacson  had  had  a  reason  for  his  hesitation.  If 
Bella  Donna  vanished,  w^hy  torture  Nigel  further?  Let 
him  lose  her,  without  knowing  all  that  he  had  lost.  But  if 
she  were  really  coming  back,  and  if  he,  Isaacson,  must  go — • 
and  his  departure  in  any  case  must  shortly  be  inevitable — 
then,  cost  what  it  might,  the  truth  must  be  told. 

As  he  paced  the  garden,  he  was  trying  to  brace  himself 
to  the  most  difficult,  the  most  dreadful  duty  life  had  so 
far  imposed  upon  him. 

When  he  went  back  to  the  terrace,  Nigel  was  no  longer 
there.    He  had  gone  up  to  bed. 

The  next  day  passed  without  a  word  between  the  two 
men  on  the  subject  of  the  previous  night.  They  talked  on 
indifferent  topics.  But  the  cloud  of  mutual  reserve  once 
more  enveloped  them,  and  intercourse  was  uneasy. 

Another  day  dawned. 

Mrs.  Armine  had  now  been  away  for  two  nights,  and, 
if  she  held  to  her  announced  plan,  should  leave  Cairo  on 
her  return  to  Luxor  on  the  evening  of  the  following  day. 
No  letter  had  been  received  from  her.  The  question  in 
Isaacson's  mind  was,  would  she  come  back?  If  he  spoke 
and  she  never  returned,  he  would  have  stabbed  his  friend 
to  the  heart  for  no  reason.  But  if  she  did  return  and  he 
had  not  spoken? 

He  was  the  prey  of  doubt,  of  contending  instincts.  He 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  But  deep  down  within  him  was 
there  not  a  voice  that,  like  the  ground  swell  of  the  ocean, 
murmured  ever  one  thing,  unwearied,  persistent? 

Sometimes  he  avos  aware  of  this  voice  and  strove  not  to 
hear  it,  or  not  to  heed  it,  this  voice  in  the  depths  of  a  man, 
telling  him  that  in  the  speaking  of  truth  there  is  strength, 
and  that  out  of  weakness  no  good  ever  came  yet,  nor  ever 
will  come  till  the  end  of  all  things. 


500  BELLA  DONNA 

But  the  telling  of  certain  truths  seems  too  cruel;  and 
how  can  one  be  cruel  to  a  man  returning  to  life  with  almost 
hesitating  steps? 

Perhaps  something  would  happen  to  decide  the  matter, 
something — some  outside  event.  What  it  might  be  Isaacson 
could  not  say  to  himself.  Indeed,  it  was  almost  childish  to 
hope  for  anything.  He  knew  that.  And  yet,  unreasonably, 
he  hoped. 

And  the  event  did  happen,  and  on  that  day. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  a  telegram  arrived  for  Nigel. 
Ibrahim  brought  it  out  to  the  terrace  where  the  two  men 
were  together,  and  Nigel  opened  it  with  an  eagerness  he 
did  not  try  to  disguise. 

**It's  from  her,"  he  said.  **She  starts  to-night,  and 
will  be  here  to-morrow  morning  early.  She's  in  such  a 
hurry  to  be  back  that  she's  only  staying  the  one  night  in 
Cairo.'' 

He  looked  across  to  Isaacson,  who  seemed  startled. 

* '  Is  there  anything  the  matter  with  you  ? "  he  asked. 

'*No.    Why?" 

*'You  don't  look  quite  yourself." 

*'l  feel  perfectly  well." 

''Oh!" 

Almost  directly  Isaacson  made  an  excuse  and  g«t  away. 
His  decision  was  made.  There  was  no  more  combat  within 
him.  But  his  heart  was  heavy,  was  sick,  and  he  felt  an 
acute  and  frightful  nervousness,  such  as  he  could  imagine 
being  experienced  by  a  man  under  sentence  of  death,  who  is 
not  told  on  what  day  the  sentence  will  be  carried  out. 
Apprehension  fell  over  him  like  an  icy  rain  in  the  sultry 
air. 

He  walked  mechanically  to  the  bank  of  the  Nile. 

To-day  the  water  was  like  a  sheet  of  glass,  dimpled  here 
and  there  by  the  wayward  currents,  and,  because  of  some 
peculiar  atmospheric  effect,  perhaps,  the  river  looked  nar- 
rower than  usual,  the  farther  bank  loss  far  off.  Never  before 
had  Isaacson  been  so  forcibly  struck  by  the  magical  clear- 
ness of  Egypt.    Even  in  the  midst  of  his  misery,  a  mi^ei'y 


BELLA  DONNA  501 

which  physically  affected  him,  he  stood  still  to  marvel  and 
to  admire. 

How  near  everything  looked!  How  startlingly  every 
detail  of  things  stood  out  in  this  exquisite  evening ! 

Presently  his  eyes  went  to  the  Loulia.  She,  too,  looked 
strangely  near,  strangely  distinct.  He  watched  her,  only 
because  of  that  at  first,  but  presently  because  he  began  to 
notice  an  unusual  bustle  on  board.  Men  were  moving  rap- 
idly about  both  on  the  lower  and  on  the  upper  deck,  were 
going  here  and  there  ceaselessly. 

One  man  swarmed  up  the  long  and  bending  mast. 
Another  clambered  over  the  balcony-rail  into  the  stern. 

What  did  all  this  movement  mean  ? 

The  master  of  the  Loulia  must  surely  be  expected — ^the 
man  Isaacson  had  seen  driving  the  Russian  horses,  and, 
clothed  almost  in  rags,  squatting  in  the  darkness  of  the 
hashish  cafe  in  the  entrails  of  Cairo. 

And  Bella  Donna  was  hurrying  back  after  only  one 
night  in  Cairo ! 

Isaacson  forgot  the  marvellous  beauty  of  the  declining 
day.  In  a  few  minutes  he  returned  to  the  house.  But 
immediately  after  dinner,  leaving  Nigel  sitting  on  the  ter- 
race, he  went  again  to  the  bank  of  the  Nile. 

The  Loulia  was  illuminated  from  prow  to  stem.  Light 
gleamed  from  every  cabin  window,  and  the  crew  had  not 
only  the  daraboukkeh  but  the  pipes  on  board,  and  were 
making  the  fantasia.  Some  of  them,  too,  were  dancing. 
Against  a  strong  light  on  the  lower  deck,  Isaacson  saw  black 
figures,  sometimes  relieved  for  a  moment,  moving  with  a 
wild  grotesqueness,  like  crazy  shadows. 

He  stood  for  several  minutes  listening,  watching.  He 
thought  of  a  train  travelling  towards  Luxor.  Then  he 
went  quickly  across  the  garden,  and  came  to  the  terrace 
and  Nigel. 

The  deep  voice  within  him  must  be  obeyed.  He  could 
resist  it  no  longer. 

*' They 're  lively  on  the  Loulia  to-night,"  Nigel  said, 
as  he  came  up. 


502  BELLA  DONNA 

* '  Yes, ' '  Isaacson  answered. 

He  stood  while  he  lighted  a  cigar.  Then  he  sat  down 
near  to  his  friend.  The  light  from  the  drawing-room 
streamed  out  upon  them  from  the  open  French  window. 
The  shrill  sound  of  the  pipes,  the  dull  throbbing  of  the 
daraboukkeh,  came  to  them  from  across  the  water. 

"The  whole  vessel  is  lighted  up,*'  he  added. 

**  Is  she?    Perhaps  Baroudi  has  come  up  the  river." 

*  *  Looks  like  it, ' '  said  Isaacson. 

He  crossed,  then  uncrossed  his  legs.  Never  before  had 
he  felt  himself  to  be  a  coward.  He  knew  what  he  must  do. 
He  knew  he  would  do  it  before  Nigel  and  he  went  into  the 
room  behind  them.  Yet  he  could  not  force  himself  to 
begin.    He  thought,  "When  I've  smoked  out  this  cigar.'' 

"YouVe  never  seen  Baroudi,"  Nigel  said.  "He's  one 
of  the  handsomest  fellows  I've  ever  clapped  eyes  on.  As 
strong  as  a  bull,  I  should  think ;  enormously  rich.  A  very 
good  chap,  too,  I  should  say.  But  I  don't  fancy  my  wife 
liked  him.    He's  hardly  a  w^oman's  man." 

"Why  d'you  think  that?" 

* '  I  don 't  know.  His  manner,  perhaps.  And  he  doesn  't 
seem  to  bother  about  them.  But  we  only  saw  him  about 
twice,  except  on  the  ship  coming  out.  He  dined  here  one 
night,  and  the  next  day  we  went  over  the  Loulia  with  him, 
and  we've  never  set  eyes  on  him  since.  He  went  up  river, 
and  we  went  down,  to  the  Fayyum." 

"But — but  you  went  off  alone  to  the  Fayyiim,  didn't 
you?    At  first,  I  mean?" 

"Oh,  yes.  The  morning  after  Baroudi  had  sailed  for 
Armant. ' ' 

*  *  And  Mrs.  Armine  was  alone  here  for  some  time  ? ' ' 
"Yes.     Just  while  I  was  getting  things  a  little  ship- 
shape for  her.    But  we  didn  't  have  much  luxury  after  all. 
However,  she  didn't  mind  that." 

"Wasn't — don't  you  think  it  may  have  been  rather  dull 
for  Mrs.  Armine  during  that  time?" 

"Which  time?     D'you  mean  in  the  Fayyum?" 
"I  mean,  while  you  were  away  in  the  Fayyum." 


BELLA  DONNA  503 

** I  dare  say  it  was.    I  expect  it  was.    But  why?" 

*'Well '^ 

Isaacson  threw  away  his  cigar. 

**Not  going  to  finish  your  cigar?"  said  Nigel. 

He  was  evidently  beginning  to  be  surprised  by  his 
friend's  words  and  manner. 

*  *  No, ' '  Isaacson  said.  * '  I  don 't  want  to  smoke  to-night ; 
I  want  to  talk.  I  must  talk  to  you.  You  remember  our 
conversation  on  the  night  of  Mrs.  Armine  's  departure  ? ' ' 

"About  my  illness?" 

"Yes." 

"Of  course  I  do." 

"I  said  then  that  I  wouldn't  accept  the  usual  money 
compensation  for  ajiything  I  had  been  able  to  do  for  you. ' ' 

"Yes,  but " 

"And  I  told  you  you  could  compensate  me  in  another 
way." 

"What  way?" 

"That's  what  I'm  going  to  try  and  tell  you  now.  But 
— but  it 's  not  easy.  I  want  you  to  understand — I  want  you 
to  understand." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.    Then  Nigel  said : 

"But  what?    Understand  what?" 

"Armine,  do  you  believe  thoroughly  in  my  friendship 
r  you?" 

"Yes." 

"You  believe,  you  know,  it's  a  friendship  that  is  quite 
disinterested  ? ' ' 

"I'm  sure  it  is." 

' '  And  yet  you  have  treated  me  all  this  time  with  almost 
as  much  reserve  as  if  I  had  been  a  mere  acquaintance." 

Nigel  looked  uncomfortable. 

* '  I  didn  't  mean — I  am  deeply  grateful  to  you, ' '  he  said ; 
"deeply  grateful.    You  have  saved  my  life." 

"I  have,  indeed,"  Isaacson  said,  solemnly.  "If  I  had 
not  followed  you  up  the  river,  you  would  certainly  have 
died." 

"Are  you — you  said  you  would  tell  me  what  was  the 
matter  with  me. ' ' 


t 


50-*  BELLA  DONNA 

*'I'm  going  to/* 

*'What  was  it?'' 

**The  bath  at  Kous  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  As  tc 
sunstroke,  you  never  had  it.  You  began  to  feel  unwell — 
didn  't  you  ? — soon  after  you  started  for  your  voyage  ? ' ' 

*'Yes.'' 

** Hasn't  it  ever  struck  you  as  very  strange  that  you,  a 
young  man  in  magnificent  health,  living  an  outdoor  life  in 
one  of  the  finest  climates  in  the  world,  should  be  struck 
down  by  this  mysterious  illness?" 

*' Mysterious?" 

*'Well,  wasn't  it?" 

"It  was  very  odd.    I  always  thought  that,  of  course.** 

He  leaned  forward  a  little  in  his  chair,  fixing  his  eyes 
on  Isaacson. 

**What  was  my  illness?" 

** You've  been  suffering  from  lead-poisoning,"  said 
Isaacson,  slowly,  and  with  an  effort. 

**Lead?" — Nigel  leaned  farther  forward,  moving  his 
hands  along  the  arms  of  his  reclining  chair — *' lead- 
poisoning?" 

*^Yes." 

*  *  I  've  been — ^you  say  I  've  been  poisoned  ? ' ' 

** Poisoned  from  day  to  day,  gradually  poisoned  through 
a  considerable  period  of  time." 

"Poisoned!" 

Nigel  repeated  the  word  heavily,  almost  dully.  For  a 
moment  he  seemed  dazed. 

"If  I  had  not  arrived  in  time,  you  would  have  been 
killed,  undoubtedly. '  * 

"Killed!  But — but  who,  in  the  name  of  God,  should 
want  to  kill  me?" 

Isaacson  was  silent. 

"I  say,  who  should  want  to  kill  me?"  reiterated  Nigel. 

And  this  time  there  was  a  sound  of  violence  in  his  voice. 

"There  was  somebody  on  board  of  the  Loulia  who  must 
have  wished  for  your  death." 

"But  who— who?    The  Nubians?    Ibrahim?    Hamza?" 


BELLA  DONNA  60d 

Isaacson  did  not  answer.  He  could  not  answer  at  that 
moment. 

' '  I  treated  them  well,  I  paid  them  well,  they  had  every- 
thing they  could  possibly  want.  They  had  an  easy  time. 
•They  all  seemed  fond  of  us.  They  were  fond  of  us.  I  know 
they  were.*' 

*'I  don't  say  they  were  not." 

''Then  what  d'you  mean?  There  was  nobody  else  on 
board  with  me." 

''Yes,  there  was." 

''There  was?  Then  I  never  saw  him!  Do  you  mean  to 
say  there  was  some  one  hidden  on  board?  What  are  you 
talking  about,  Isaacson?" 

He  was  becoming  greatly,  almost  angrily  excited. 

"Armine,  the  compensation  I  want  is  this.  I  don't 
want  to  clear  out  and  leave  you  here  in  Egypt;  I  want  to 
take  you  away  with  me." 

' '  Take  me  away  ?    Where  to  ? " 

"Anywhere — ^back  to  England." 

"We  are  going  to  England  as  soon  as  I'm  quite  strong. 
But  you  haven 't  told  me !  You  say  I've  been  poisoned.  I 
want  to  know  by  whom." 

t*  •  •  #  •  • 

"But  perhaps  you  don't  know!    Do  you  know?" 
Isaacson  got  up.    He  felt  as  if  he  could  not  speak  any 
re  sitting  down. 
"If  you  will  only  give  me  my  compensation,  let  me  take 
you  away  quietly — I'm  a  doctor.    Nobody  will  think  any^ 
thing  of  it — I  need  say  nothing  more." 

"Take  me  away!  But  I'm  nearly  weU  now,  and  there 
can  be  no  more  danger." 

"If  you  come  away  with  me — no!" 
"But  you  forget,  I'm  not  alone.     I  must  consult  my 
wife." 

"That  is  what  I  don't  wish  you  to  do." 

"Don't?    You  mean,  go  away  with  you  without ?" 


I 


506  BELLA  DONNA 

**I  mean,  without  Mrs.  Armine.'* 

*' Leave  my  wife?'' 

*'Yes." 

''Leave  Ruby?  Desert  her  after  all  she's  done  for  me?" 

*'Yes." 

*'Why?" 

Isaacson  said  nothing. 

Nigel  looked  at  Isaacson  in  silence  for  what  seemed  to 
Isaacson  a  long  time — ^minutes.  Then  his  face  slowly 
flushed,  was  suffused  with  blood  up  to  his  forehead.  It 
seemed  to  swell,  as  if  there  was  a  pressure  from  within  out- 
wards. Then  the  blood  retreated,  leaving  behind  it  a  sort 
of  dark  pallor,  and  the  eyes  looked  sunken  in  their  sockets. 

''You — ^j^ou  dare  to  think — you  dare  to — to  say ?" 

he  stammered. 

"I  say  that  you  must  come  away  from  Mrs.  Armine. 
Don 't  ask  me  to  say  why. ' ' 

"You — you  liar!    You  damnable  liar!" 

He  spoke  slowly,  in  a  low,  husky  voice. 

' '  That  you  hated  her,  I  knew  that !  She  told  me  that. 
But  that  you — that  you  should  dare  to " 

His  voice  broke,  and  he  stopped.  He  leaned  forward 
in  his  chair  and  made  a  gesture. 

"Go!"  he  said.  "Get  out!  If  I— if  I  were  myself, 
I'd  put  you  out." 

But  Isaacson  did  not  move.  He  felt  no  anger,  nothing 
but  a  supreme  pity  for  this  man  who  could  not  see,  could 
not  understand  the  truth  of  a  nature  with  which  he  had 
held  commune  for  so  long,  and,  as  he  in  his  blindness 
believed,  in  such  a  perfect  intimacy.  There  was  to  the 
Doctor  something  shocking  in  such  blindness,  in  such  igno- 
rance. But  there  was  something  beautiful,  too.  And  to 
destroy  beauty  is  terrible. 

"  If  I  am  to  go,  you  must  hear  me  first, ' '  he  said,  quietly. 

*  *  I  won 't  hear  you — not  one  word ! ' ' 

Again  there  was  the  gesture  towards  the  door. 

"I  have  saved  your  life,"  Isaacson  said.  "And  ^ou 
^all  hear  mel " 


BELLA  DONNA  507 

And  then,  without  waiting  for  Nigel  to  speak  again, 
very  quietly,  very  steadily,  and  with  a  great  simplicity  he 
told  him  what  he  had  to  tell.  He  did  not,  even  now,  tell 
him  all.  He  kept  secret  the  visit  of  Mrs.  Chepstow  to  his 
consulting-room,  and  her  self-revelation  there.  And  he 
did  not  mention  Baroudi.  At  this  moment  of  crisis  the 
man  bred  up  in  England  fought  against  the  Eastern  Jew 
within  Isaucson,  and  the  Eastern  Jew  gave  way.  But  he 
described  his  visits  to  the  Savoy,  how  the  last  time  he  had 
gone  with  the  resolution  to  beg  Mrs.  Chepstow  not  to  go  to 
Egypt,  not  to  link  herself  with  his  friend;  how  he  had 
begun  to  speak,  and  how  her  cold  irony,  pitiless  and  serene, 
had  shown  him  the  utter  futility  of  his  embassy.  Then  he 
came  on  to  the  later  time,  after  the  marriage  and  the 
departure,  when  he  received  his  friend's  letter  describing 
his  happiness  and  his  wonderful  health,  when  he  received 
soon  afterwards  that  other  letter  from  the  lady  patient, 
speaking  of  NigePs  *' extraordinary  colour."  He  told  how 
in  London  he  had  put  those  letters  side  by  side  and  had 
compared  them,  and  how  some  strong  instinct  of  trouble 
and  danger  had  driven  him,  almost  against  his  will,  to 
Egypt,  had  bound  him  to  silence  about  his  arrival.  Then 
on  the  terrace  at  Shepheard's  an  acquaintance  casually  met 
had  increased  his  fears.  And  so,  in  his  quick,  terse,  unem- 
broidered  narrative,  almost  frightfully  direct,  he  reached 
the  scene  in  the  temple  of  Edfou.  From  that  moment  he 
spared  Nigel  no  detail.  He  described  Mrs.  Armine  's  obvious 
terror  at  his  appearance ;  her  lies,  her  omission  to  tell  him 
her  husband  was  ill  until  she  realized  that  he — Isaacson — 
had  already  heard  of  the  illness  in  Luxor;  her  pretence 
that  his  dangerous  malady  was  only  a  slight  indisposition 
caused  by  grief  at  the  death  of  Lord  Harwich ;  her  endeavor 
to  prevent  Isaacson  from  coming  on  board  the  Loulia;  the 
note  she  had  sent  by  the  felucca ;  his  walk  by  night  on  the 
river  bank  till  he  came  to  the  dahabeeyah,  his  eavesdrop- 
ping, and  how  the  words  he  overheard  decided  him  to  insist 
on  seeing  Nigel;  the  interview  with  IMrs.  Armine  in  the 
saloon,  and  how  he  had  forced  his  way,  by  a  stratagem, 


508  BELLA  DONNA 

to  the  after  part  of  the  vesseL  Then  he  told  of  the  contest 
with  Doctor  Hartley,  already  influenced  by  Mrs.  Armine. 
and  of  the  final  victory,  won — how?  By  a  threat,  which 
could  only  have  frightened  a  guilty  woman. 

*'I  told  Mrs.  Armine  that  either  I  took  charge  of  your 
case  or  that  I  communicated  with  the  police  authorities. 
Then,  and  only  then,  she  gave  way.  She  let  me  come  on 
board  to  nurse  you  back  to  life.'* 

''How  could  you  have  known?"  Nigel  exclaimed,  with 
intensely  bitter  defiance,  when  at  last  a  pause  came.  ' '  Even 
if  it  had  been  true,  how  could  you  have  known?'* 

*'I  did  not  know.  I  suspected.  To  save  you,  I  drew  a 
bow  at  a  venture,  and  I  hit  the  mark.  Your  illness  has 
been  caused  by  the  administration,  through  a  long  period  of 
time,  of  minute  doses  of  some  preparation  of  lead — almost 
impalpable  doubtless,  perhaps  not  to  be  distinguished 
from  the  sand  that  is  blown  from  the  desert.  And  Mrs. 
Armine  either  herself  gave  or  caused  it  to  be  given  to  you. ' ' 

''Liar!    Liar!" 

"Did  she  ever  herself  give  you  food?  Did  she  ever 
prepare  your  coffee?" 

Nigel  started  up  in  his  chair  with  a  furious  spasm  of 
energy. 

*'Go!  Go!"  he  uttered,  in  a  sort  of  broken  shout  or 
cry.  His  face  was  yellowish  white.  His  mouth  was 
working. 

"By  God!    I'll  put  you  out!" 

Grasping  the  arms  of  his  chair,  he  stood  up  and  he 
advanced  upon  Isaacson. 

"I'll  go.    But  I'll  leave  you  that!" 

And  Isaacson  drew  from  his  pocket  the  letter  ^Irs. 
Armine  had  sent  by  the  felucca,  and  laid  it  on  the  coffee- 
table. 

Then  he  turned  quickly,  and  went  away  through  the 
dark  garden. 

Before  he  was  out  of  sight  of  the  house,  he  looked  back. 
Nigel  had  sunk  upon  his  chair  in  a  collapsed  attitude. 

From  the  western  bank  of  the  Nile  came  the  shrill, 


BELLA  DONNA  509 

attenuated  sound  of  the  pipes,  the  deep  throbbing  of  the 
daraboukkeh,  the  nasal  chant  of  the  Nubians. 

And  the  lights  of  the  Loulia  were  like  a  line  of  fiery 
eyes  staring  across  the  Nile. 


XLHI 

When  Mrs.  Armine  got  into  the  night  train  at  Luxor, 
heard  the  whistle  of  the  engine,  felt  the  first  slow  movement 
of  the  carriage,  then  the  gradually  increasing  velocity, 
saw  the  houses  of  the  village  disappearing,  and  presently 
only  the  long  plains  and  the  ranges  of  mountains  to  right 
and  left,  hard  and  clear  in  the  evening  light,  she  had  a 
moment  of  almost  savage  exultation,  as  of  one  who  had 
been  in  great  danger  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  escaping 
into  freedom. 

At  last  she  was  alone,  unwatched  by  the  eyes  of  affec- 
tion and  of  perhaps  menacing  suspicion  and  even  hatred. 
How  had  she  endured  so  long?  She  wondered,  and  could 
scarcely  tell  where  she  had  found  her  courage.  But  though 
now  she  felt  exultation,  she  felt  also  the  tremendous  strain 
she  had  undergone.  She  knew  that  her  nerves  were  shat- 
tered. Only  in  happiness  could  she  recover.  She  must  have 
the  life  she  wanted,  and  she  must  have  it  now.  Otherwise 
she  was  **done  for.'*    Was  she  going  to  have  it? 

And  soon  the  exultation  passed,  and  again  fear  beset 
her.  Even  if  she  found  Baroudi  in  Cairo,  what  reception 
would  she  have  at  his  hands  ? 

With  anxious  fingers  she  took  out  of  her  dressing-case 
the  gilded  box  he  had  given  her,  and  opened  the  lid.  But, 
having  opened  it,  she  dared  not  look  at  herself  in  the  glass, 
and  she  shut  it  sharply,  replaced  it  in  the  case,  and  leaned 
back  in  her  corner. 

*'I  won't  bother,"  she  said  to  herself;  *'l  won't  worry. 
To-night  I  must  sleep.  I  must  look  my  best  to-morrow. 
Everything  now  may  depend  on  how  I  look  when  I  get  to 
Cairo  " 


510  BELLA  DONNA 

And  she  shut  her  eyes  with  the  determination  to  be 
calm,  to  be  tranquil.  And  soon  she  went  to  bed,  determined 
to  sleep. 

But  of  course  she  did  not  sleep.  Quietly,  then  angrily, 
she  strove  to  lay  hold  on  sleep.  But  it  would  not  come  to 
her  wooing.  The  long  hours  of  darkness  wore  gradually 
away;  the  first  pale  light  of  the  new  day  crept  in  to  the 
rocking  carriage;  the  weary  woman  who  had  been  tossing 
and  turning  from  side  to  side,  in  a  sort  of  madness  of 
restrained  and  attenuated  movement,  sat  up  against  her 
crushed  pillow,  and  knew  that  there  was  probably  some 
new  line  on  her  face,  an  accentuation  of  the  sharpness  of 
the  cheek-bones,  a  more  piteous  droop  at  the  corners  of 
the  mouth. 

As  she  sat  there,  with  her  knees  drawn  up  and  her 
hands  hanging,  she  felt  that  she  was  uglier  than  she  had 
been  only  the  day  before. 

When  the  train  reached  Cairo,  she  pulled  down  her  veil, 
got  out,  and  drove  to  Shepheard's.  She  knew  an  address 
that  would  find  Baroudi  in  Cairo,  if  he  were  there,  and 
directly  she  was  in  her  room  she  sat  down  and  wrote  a 
note  to  him. 

**Shepheard's  Hotel,  Tuesday  morning. 
*'I  have  come  to  Cairo  for  a  day's  shopping.     Can  I 
see  you  ?    If  so,  please  tell  me  where  and  at  what  hour. 

**RuBY  Armine." 

She  wrote  in  French,  sealed  the  envelope,  and  told  the 
waiter  to  have  it  taken  at  once  by  a  messenger.  Then  she 
ordered  coffee  and  rolls  to  be  sent  in  half  an  hour,  and 
took  a  hot  bath.  How  she  wished  that  she  had  a  clever 
maid  with  her!  It  was  maddening  to  have  no  help  except 
that  of  a  clumsy  Swiss  housemaid,  and  she  now  saw,  with 
horror,  that  she  wa,s  haggard.  She  scarcely  recognized  her 
own  face.  Instead  of  looking  younger  than  she  was,  it 
seemed  to  her  now  that  she  looked  older,  much  older.  She 
was  shocked  by  her  appearance. 

But  she  had  had  a  night  journey  and  had  not  slept. 


BELLA  DONNA  511 

and  every  woman  looks  old  after  a  night  journey.  SHe 
would  be  all  right  when  she  had  rested.  On  arriving  she 
had  engaged  a  sitting-room.  She  went  into  it  and  had 
breakfast,  then  asked  for  newspapers,  and  lay  down  on 
the  sofa  to  read.  At  every  moment  she  expected  the  return 
of  her  messenger  to  Baroudi.    He  came  at  last. 

* '  Have  you  brought  a  note  ? '  *  she  asked,  starting  up  on 
the  sofa. 

The  messenger  said  no;  the  gentleman  was  not  in. 

*'Did  you  leave  the  note?" 

*'Yes,  ma'am.'' 

**You  can  go  back  presently.  Go  back  at  twelve,  and 
see  if  the  gentleman  has  come  in.  He  may  come  in  for 
lunch.     Stay  till  lunch-time  and  see.    I  want  an  answer." 

The  man  went  away.  Slowly  the  morning  passed. 
Twelve  o'clock  came,  but  the  messenger  did  not  return. 
Mrs.  Armine  had  lunch  in  her  room,  but  she  could  scarcely 
eat  anything.  After  lunch  she  ordered  very  strong  coffee. 
As  she  was  drinking  her  second  cup,  there  was  a  tap  on  the 
door.  She  cried,  "Come  in,"  and  the  messenger  reap- 
peared. 

"Well?"  she  said.    "Well?" 

II    The  man  looked  at  her  as  if  her  voice  had  startled  him. 
"The  gentleman  has  not  come  in,  ma'am." 
!    *  *  When  is  he  coming  in  ?  " 
i     "I  don 't  know,  ma  'am. '  * 
f     "Is  he  in  Cairo?" 
"I  don't  know,  ma'am." 
I     "What  do  you  know?    What's  the  good  of  you?    What 
ire  you  here  for?    Go  back  at  once,  and  find  out  whether 
he  gentleman  is  in  Cairo  or  not." 

The  messenger  went  out  rather  hurriedly. 
Mrs.  Armine  was  shaking.  She  had  felt  inclined  to 
attack  the  man,  to  beat  him  for  his  stupidity,  as  slaves  are 
often  beaten  by  their  masters  when  they  do  wrong.  When 
she  was  alone,  she  uttered  two  or  three  incoherent  exclama- 
tions. Her  body  was  burning  with  a  sort  of  cruel,  dry 
heat.     She  felt  parched  all  over.     An  hour  passed,  and  at 


512  BELLA  DONNA 

length  she  again  heard  a  tap.  The  messenger  came  in^ 
and  very  sulkily  said: 

^'The  gentleman  was  in  Cairo  last  night,  ma'am/' 

**What  I  want  to  know  is  whether  he  is  in  Cairo  now!" 
she  exclaimed,  angrily. 

"They  don't  know,  ma'am." 

* '  Don 't  know !    They  must  know ! ' ' 

'*They  don't  know,  ma'am." 

*  *  I  tell  you  they  must  know ! ' ' 

''They  don't  know,  ma'am." 

She  sprang  up,  tingling.  She  didn't  know  what  she 
was  going  to  do,  but  as  she  faced  him  the  expression  in  the 
messenger's  eyes  recalled  her  to  a  sense  of  the  proprieties. 
Without  another  word,  she  gave  him  some  money  and 
turned  her  back  on  him.  When  she  heard  the  door  close, 
she  no  longer  controlled  herself,  until  suddenly  once  more 
she  remembered  her  ravaged  face. 

She  went  into  her  bedroom  and  after  half  an  hour  she 
came  out  dressed  for  driving.  She  was  resolved  to  go 
herself  to  Baroudi's  house.  After  all  these  months  of 
slavish  obedience  and  of  fear,  something  rose  up  within 
her,  something  that  had  passed  for  the  moment  beyond 
obedience  and  even  beyond  fear,  that  was  fiercely  deter- 
mined, that  was  reckless  of  consequences.  She  engaged 
a  victoria  and  drove  to  Baroudi's  house.  It  was  on  the 
outskirts  of  Cairo,  near  the  Nile,  on  the  Island  of  Gezira. 
A  garden  surrounded  it,  enclosed  by  high  walls  and  entered 
by  tall  gates  of  elaborately-wrought  ironwork.  These 
gates  were  shut  and  the  coachman  pulled  up  his  horses. 
Inside,  on  the  left,  there  was  a  lodge  from  which  there  now 
came  a  tall  Arab.  Mrs.  Armine  got  quickly  out  of  the 
carriage,  passed  the  horses,  and  stood  looking  through  the 
gate. 

"Is  Mahmoud  Baroudi  in  Cairo?"  she  said,  in  French. 

The  Arab  said  something  in  Arabic. 

"Is  Baroudi  Effendi  in  Cairo?"  Mrs.  Armine  said  in 
English. 

"Yes,  I  think,"  replied  the  man,  in  careful  English, 
speaking  slowly. 


BELLA  DONNA  51S 

*'In  the  city?'' 

** I  think.'' 

She  took  her  purse,  opened  it,  and  gave  him  some  money. 

**Where?" 

''I  dunno." 

**When  will  he  be  back  here'/" 

*^I  dunno." 

She  felt  inclined  to  scream. 

**Will  he  come  back  to-night,  do  you  think?'* 

**I  dunno.     Sometimes  stay  in  Cairo  all  night." 

**But  he  has  not  gone  away?  He  is  not  away  from^ 
Cairo?    He  is  in  Cairo?" 

**Is'pose." 

They  stood  for  a  moment  staring  at  each  other  through 
the  dividing  gate.  The  man's  eyes  were  absolutely  expres- 
sionless. He  looked  as  if  he  were  half  asleep.  Mrs.  Armine 
turned  away,  and  got  into  the  carriage. 

''Go  back  to  Shepheard 's. " 

The  coachman  smacked  his  whip.     The  horses  trotted. 

When  she  reached  Shepheard 's,  she  resolved  to  spend 
the  whole  afternoon  upon  the  terrace.  By  chance  Baroudi 
might  come  there.  It  was  not  at  all  improbable.  She  had' 
heard  it  said  that  almost  every  one  who  was  any  one,  in 
Cairo,  either  came  to  Shepheard 's  or  might  be  seen  passing 
by  in  the  afternoon  hours.  She  took  an  arm-chair  near 
the  railing,  with  a  table  beside  it.  She  bought  papers,  a 
magazine,  and  sat  there,  sometimes  pretending  to  read,  but 
always  looking,  looking,  at  the  men  coming  up  and  down  the 
steps,  at  the  men  walking  and  driving  by  in  the  crowded 
street.  Tea-time  came.  She  ordered  tea.  She  drank  it 
slowly.  Her  head  was  aching.  Her  eyes  were  tired  with 
examining  so  many  faces  of  men.  But  still  she  watched, 
till  evening  began  to  fall  and  within  the  house  behind  her 
the  deep  note  of  a  gong  sounded,  announcing  the  half -hour 
before  dinner.  What  more  could  she  do?  Mechanically 
she  began  to  gather  the  papers  together.  She  supposed  she 
must  go  in.  The  terrace  was  almost  deserted.  She  was 
just  about  to  get  up,  when  two  men,  one  English,  the  other 

33 


514  BELLA  DONNA 

American,  came  up  the  steps  and  sat  down  at  a  table  near 
her.  One  of  these  men  was  Starnworth,  whom  she  did  not 
know,  and  of  whom  she  had  never  heard.  He  ordered  an 
aperitif,  and  plunged  into  conversation  with  his  companion. 
They  talked  about  Cairo,  Mrs.  Armine  sat  still  and 
listened.  Starnworth  began  to  describe  the  native  quarters. 
Presently  he  spoke  of  the  hashish  cafe  to  which  he  had 
taken  Isaacson.  He  told  his  friend  where  it  was.  Mrs. 
Armine  heard  the  name  of  the  street,  Bab-el  Meteira.  Then 
he  spoke  of  the  rich  Egyptians  who  frequented  the  cafe, 
and  he  mentioned  the  name  of  Baroudi.  Almost  immedi- 
ately afterwards  he  and  his  companion  got  up  and  strolled 
into  the  hotel. 

That  night,  quietly  dressed  and  veiled,  Mrs.  Armine, 
accompanied  by  a  native  guide,  made  a  pilgrimage  into  the 
•strange  places  of  the  city;  stayed  long,  very  long,  beneath 
the  blackened  roof  of  the  cafe  where  the  hashish  was 
smoked.  She  was  exhausted,  yet  she  felt  feverishly,  almost 
crazily  alive.  She  drank  coffee  after  coffee.  She  watched 
the  dreaming  smokers,  the  dreaming  dancers,  till  she  seemed 
to  be  living  in  a  nightmare,  to  be  detached  from  earth  and 
all  things  she  had  ever  known  till  now. 

But  Baroudi  did  not  come.  And  at  last  she  returned 
through  the  dancing  quarters,  where  her  sense  of  night- 
mare deepened. 

Again  she  did  not  sleep. 

When  day  came,  she  felt  really  ill.  Yet  her  body  was 
still  pulsing,  her  brain  was  still  throbbing,  with  an  activity 
that  was  like  a  fever  within  her.  Directly  after  breakfast, 
which  she  scarcely  touched,  she  again  took  a  carriage  and 
drove  to  Baroudi  ^s  house. 

The  sleepy  Arab  met  her  at  the  grille,  and  in  an  almost 
trembling  voice  she  made  enquiries. 

**Gone  away,'*  was  the  reply. 

''Gone?    Whereto?" 

**Him  gone  to  Luxor.  Him  got  one  dahabeeyah  at 
Luxor. '  * 

**Gone  to  Luxor  I    When  did  he  go! '* 


BELLA  DONNA  515 

**'We  know  last  night." 

**Did  he  get  a  note  I  sent  him  yesterday  morning  V 

The  Arab  shook  his  head. 

**Not  bin  back  heeyah  at  all." 

Mrs.  Armine  telegraphed  to  the  villa,  and  took  the  night 
train  back  to  Luxor. 

She  arrived  in  the  morning  about  nine,  after  another 
sleepless  night.  As  she  drove  by  the  Winter  Palace  Hotel, 
she  saw  a  man  walking  alone  upon  the  terrace,  and,  to  her 
great  surprise,  recognized  Meyer  Isaacson.  He  saw  her— 
she  was  certain  of  that — but  he  immediately  looked  away, 
and  did  not  take  off  his  hat  to  her.  Had  she,  or  had  she 
not,  bowed  to  him  ?  She  did  not  know.  But  in  either  case 
his  behaviour  was  very  strange.  And  she  could  not  under- 
stand why  he  was  at  the  hotel.  Had  something  happened  at 
the  villa  ?  Almost  before  she  had  had  time  to  wonder,  the 
horses  were  pulled  up  at  the  gate. 

She  had  expected  Ibrahim  to  meet  her  at  the  station. 
But  he  had  not  come.  Nor  did  he  meet  her  at  the  gate, 
which  was  opened  by  the  gardener.  She  nodded  in  reply 
to  his  salutation,  hastened  across  the  garden,  and  came  into 

I  the  house. 
1      * '  Nigel ! "  she  called  out.    *  *  Nigel ! ' ' 
She  immediately  heard  a  slow  step,  and  saw  her  hus- 
band coming  towards  her  from  the  drawing-room.     She 
thought  he  looked  very  ill. 
''Well,  Ruby,  you  are  back,"  he  said. 
He  held  out  his  hand.    His  eyes,  which  were  curiously 
sunken,  gazed  into  hers  with  a  sort  of  wistful,  yearning 
expression. 

"Yes,"  she  said.    *'I  hurried.    I  couldn't  stand  Cairo 
It  was  hot  and  dreadful.    And  I  felt  miserable  there." 
They  were  standing  in  the  little  hall. 

I        "You  look  fearfully  tired — fearfully!"  he  said. 
He  was  still  holding  her  hand. 
Her  mouth  twisted. 
"Do  I?    It's  the  two  night  journeys.    I  didn't  sleep  at 
all" 


516  BELLA  DONNA 

"And  the  maid?    Did  you  get  oneT* 

**No.    What  does  it  matter?" 

Infinitely  unimportant  to  her  now  seemed  such  a  quest 

*'I  must  sit  down/'  she  added.    **I'm  nearly  dead." 

She  really  felt  as  if  her  physical  powers  were  failing 
her.    Her  legs  shook  under  her. 

**Come  into  the  drawing-room.  And  you  must  have 
some  breakfast." 

He  let  go  her  hand.  She  went  into  the  drawing-room, 
and  she  sank  down  on  a  sofa.  He  followed  almost  imme- 
diately. 

''Oh!"  she  said. 

She  leaned  back  against  the  cushions,  stretched  out  her 
arms,  and  shut  her  eyes.  All  the  time  she  was  thinking, 
**Baroudi  is  here!  Baroudi  is  here!  And  I  can't  go  to 
him;  I  can't  go — I  can't  go!" 

She  seemed  to  see  his  mighty  throat,  his  eyebrows,  slant- 
ing upwards  above  his  great  bold  eyes,  his  large,  muscular 
hands,  his  deep  chest  of  an  athlete. 

She  heard  Nigel  sitting  down  close  to  her. 

**Why  didn't  Ibrahim  come  to  the  station?"  she  said, 
with  an  effort  opening  her  eyes. 

**0h,  I  suppose  he  was  busy,"  Nigel  replied. 

His  voice  sounded  cautious  and  uneasy. 

''Busy?" 

"Yes.    He'll  bring  your  breakfast.    I've  told  him  to." 

Then  he  was  in  the  house.  She  felt  a  slight  sense  of 
relief,  she  scarcely  knew  why. 

The  door  opened,  and  Ibrahim  came  in  quietly  and 
carefully  with  a  tray. 

"Good  momin'  to  you,  my  lady,"  he  said. 

"Good  morning,  Ibrahim." 

He  set  down  the  tray  without  noise,  stood  for  a  minute 
as  if  considering  it,  then  softly  went  away. 

"You'll  feel  better  when  you've  had  breakfast." 

"I  ought  to  have  had  a  bath  first.  But  I  couldn't 
wait." 

She  sat  up  in  front  of  the  little  table,  and  poured  out 


BELLA  DONNA  517 

the  strong  tea.  As  she  did  this,  she  glanced  again  at  her 
husband  and  again  thought  how  ill  he  looked.  But  she 
did  not  remark  upon  it.  She  drank  some  tea,  and  ate  a 
piece  of  toast. 

*'0h,"  she  said,  '*as  I  passed  by  the  Winter  Palace,  I 
saw  Doctor  Isaacson  on  the  terrace." 

*'Didyour' 

"Yes.    What's  he  gone  there  for  this  morning?" 

'*I  suppose  he's  staying  there." 

Mrs.  Armine  put  down  the  cup  she  was  lifting  to  her 
lips. 

** Staying!  Doctor  Isaacson!"  she  said,  staring  at  her 
husband. 

*'I  suppose  so." 

*'But — do  you  mean  he  has  left  here?" 

**Yes.    He  went  away  last  night." 

**Why?    Why?" 

**Why?  Well — well,  we  had  a  discussion.  It  ended  in 
a  disagreement,  and  he  left  the  house." 

'*You  quarrelled?" 

**Yes,  I  suppose  it  might  be  called  that." 

In  the  midst  of  her  exhaustion,  her  physical  misery 
and  mental  distraction,  Mrs.  Armine  was  conscious  of  a 
sharp  pang.    It  was  like  that  of  joy. 

"Doctor  Isaacson  has  left  the  house  for  good?"  she 
said. 

"Yes.    He  won't  come  here  again." 

She  drank  some  more  tea,  and  went  on  eating.    For  the 
first  time  for  days  she  felt  some  appetite.    A  shock  of  fear 
that  had  assailed  her  had  passed  away.     She  remembered 
how  Nigel  had  held  her  hand  closely  in  the  hall. 
^^         "But  why  did  you  quarrel?"  she  said,  at  last. 
lUP        "Oh,  we  had  a  discussion "    He  paused. 

"I  know,"  she  said,  "I  know!  You  did  what  I  asked 
you  to  do.  You  spoke  about  being  strong  enough  now  ta 
let  Doctor  Isaacson  go  back  to  London." 

t"Yes,  I  did  that." 


518  BELLA  DONNA 

''Yes/' 

*'And  he  was  angry  T' 

**I  had  been  speaking  of  that;  and Ruby,  what  da 

we  owe  him  ?  I — I  must  send  him  a  cheque.  I  must  send  it 
to  him  to-night.*' 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

*'I  don't  know.  He'll  open  his  mouth  very  wide,  no 
doubt,  now  you  've  quarrelled. ' ' 

"I  think — I'm  sure  that  you  wrong  him  there,"  Nigel 
said,  slowly. 

*'Do  you  think  so  ?  "Well,  I  must  go  up  and  take  a  bath. 
I  may  be  a  good  while." 

*'Let  me  come  and  sit  with  you.  Shall  I?  I  mean  in 
a  few  minutes." 

''Not  just  yet.  Better  try  and  calculate  out  your  debt 
to  Doctor  Isaacson." 

She  hastened  away.  Directly  she  reached  her  room, 
she  locked  the  door,  went  out  on  to  the  balcony,  and 
looked  across  the  river  to  the  Loulia.  She  saw  the  Egyptian 
flag  flying.  Was  Baroudi  on  board?  She  must  know,  and 
immediately.    She  rang  the  bell,  and  unlocked  the  door. 

"Ibrahim!"  she  said,  to  the  Nubian  who  appeared. 

He  retreated,  and  in  a  moment  Ibrahim  came,  with 
his  soft  stride,  up  the  staircase. 

* '  Ibrahim, ' '  she  almost  whispered,  * '  is  Baroudi  on  board 
the  Loulia?" 

"Yes,  my  lady." 

She  could  hardly  repress  an  exclamation. 

"He  is?  Ibrahim" — in  her  astonishment  she  put  one 
hand  on  his  shoulder  and  grasped  it  tightly — "to-night,  as 
soon  as  dinner  is  over,  you  are  to  have  a  felucca  ready  at 
the  foot  of  the  garden.    D'you  understand?" 

He  looked  at  her  very  seriously. 

' '  Can  you  manage  to  row  me  across  to  the  Loulia  with- 
out help?" 

"My  lady,  I  am  as  strong  as  Rameses  the  Second." 

"Very  well  then!  Get  a  small,  light  boat.  We  shall 
go  more  quickly  in  that.  How  long  is  Baroudi  going  to 
stay?" 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  519 

*'Idiinno.'' 

**Try  to  find  out.    Is  Hamza  with  him?" 

Ibrahim  looked  vicious. 

*' Hamza  him  there.  But  Hamza  very  bad  boy.  I  not 
speak  any  more  to  Hamza.'* 

*' Don't  forget!     Directly  after  dinner." 

She  shut  and  relocked  the  door. 

She  took  a  hot  bath,  let  down  her  hair,  got  into  a 
wrapper,  lay  down,  and  tried  to  rest.  But  her  body 
twitched  with  desire  for  active  movement,  almost  worn  out 
though  she  was.  Again  and  again  she  got  up,  went  out  to 
the  terrace,  and  looked  at  the  Loulia,  She  took  her  glasses 
and  tried  to  discern  Baroudi  on  the  upper  deck.  But  she 
could  not  see  him.  Presently  she  pulled  a  long  chair  out  to 
the  balcony,  and  was  just  going  to  lie  down  on  it  when 
she  heard  a  knock  on  the  door. 

*'Ruby!" 

It  was  Nigel.  She  felt  inclined  to  rush  across  the  room^ 
to  open  the  door,  to  seize  him  by  the  shoulders  and  thrust 
him  out  of  the  house,  out  of  her  life  for  ever. 

**Ruby!" 

'*!  am  coming!"  she  said. 

She  waited  an  instant,  striving  for  self-control.  Every 
nerve  in  her  body  seemed  to  be  quivering. 

**The  door  is  locked." 

* '  I  know.    I  'm  coming !    I  'm  coming ! '  * 

She  set  her  teeth,  went  to  the  door,  and  unlocked  it. 

"Come  in!     Come  in,  your  importunate  man!" 

*  *  Importunate !  But  I  haven 't  seen  you  for  three  nights. 
And  I  can't  get  on  without  you.  Ruby.  Thank  God,  to- 
night we  shall  be  alone  together.  After  dinner  I  want  yon 
to  play  to  me." 

Her  face  twitched. 

*af  I'mnot  too  tired." 

*'We'll  go  to  bed  quite  early." 

He  shut  the  door. 

*'I'll  come  and  sit  in  here  with  you.  I  want  to  take 
your  opinion  about  this  cheque  to  Isaacson." 


520  BELLA  DONNA 

He  sighed  heavily. 

He  had  a  pencil  and  some  paper  in  his  hands,  and  he 
sat  down  by  a  table. 

*'I  must  get  this  off  my  mind.  After  what  has  hap- 
pened,  I  must  pay  Isaacson,   though   otherwise   I  think 

we "     He  sighed  again.     **Let  me  see,  when  did  he 

€rst  come  on  board  to  take  care  of  me?" 


That  day  went  by  slowly,  slowly,  with  feet  of  lead. 
Whether  she  would  endure  to  its  end  without  some  hys- 
terical outburst  of  temper  Mrs.  Armine  did  not  know.  She 
seemed  to  herself  to  be  clinging  frantically  to  the  last  frag- 
ments of  her  self-control.  For  so  long  she  had  acted  a 
part,  that  it  would  be  tragic  to  break  down  feebly,  con- 
temptibly, now  close  to  the  end  of  the  drama. 

This  night  must  see  its  end.  For  her  powers  were 
•exhausted.  She  meant  to  tell  Baroudi  so.  He  must  take 
her  away  now,  or  let  her  join  him  somewhere.  But  in  any 
<;ase  she  must  get  away  from  her  life  with  Nigel.  She  could 
no  longer  play  the  devoted  wife,  safe  at  last,  after  many 
trials,  in  the  arms  of  respectability.  It  was  only  by  making 
a  cruel  effort  that  she  was  able  to  get  through  the  day 
without  rousing  suspicion  in  Nigel.  And  to-day  he  was 
•curiously  observant  of  her.  His  eyes  seemed  to  be  always 
upon  her,  watching  her  with  a  look  she  could  not  quite 
understand.  He  never  left  her  for  a  moment,  and  some- 
times she  had  a  strange  sensation  that,  like  herself,  he  was 
•on  the  verge  of — what — some  self-revelation?  Some  con- 
fession? Some  perhaps  emotional  laying  bare  of  his  heart? 
:She  did  not  know.  But  she  did  know  that  he  was  not  in  a 
normal  state.  And  once  or  twice  she  wondered  what  had 
been  the  exact  truth  of  the  quarrel  with  Isaacson.  But,  at 
any  rate,  it  had  not  been  the  truth  in  which  she  w^as  con- 
<}erned.  And  she  was  too  frightfully  intent  upon  herself 
to-day  to  be  very  curious,  even  about  Isaacson's  relations 
'with  her  husband. 

He  was  gone,  and  gone  without  having  tried  to  destroy 


IFt 


BELLA  DONNA  521 

her.  That  was  enough.  She  would  not  bother  about  small 
things  to-day. 

At  last  the  evening  approached  along  the  marvellous 
ways  of  gold.  As  she  saw  the  sky  beginning  to  change 
Mrs.  Armine's  fever  of  excitement  and  impatience  in- 
creased. Now  that  the  moment  of  her  meeting  with 
Baroudi  was  so  near  she  felt  as  if  she  could  not  bear  even 
another  second's  delay.  How  she  was  going  to  escape  from 
her  husband  she  did  not  know.  But  she  did  not  worry 
about  that.  She  could  always  manage  Nigel  somehow,  and 
she  would  not  fail  for  the  first  time  to-night. 

When  the  moment  came  it  would  find  her  ready.  Of 
that  she  was  sure. 

She  made  up  her  face  elaborately  that  evening,  put  a 
delicate  flush  upon  her  cheeks,  darkened  her  eyebrows  more 
than  usual,  made  her  lips  very  red.  She  took  infinite  pains 
to  give  to  her  face  an  appearance  of  youth.  Her  eyes 
burned  out  of  the  painted  shadows  about  them.  Her  shin- 
ing hair  was  perfectly  arranged  in  the  way  that  suited  her 
best.  She  put  on  a  very  low-cut  evening  gown,  that  showed 
as  much  as  possible  of  her  still  lovely  figure.  And  she 
strove  to  think  that  she  looked  no  older  now  than  when 
Baroudi  had  seen  her  last.  The  mirror  contradicted  her 
cruelly.  But  she  was  determined  not  to  believe  what  it 
aid. 

At  last  she  was  ready,  and  she  went  down  to  get  through 
the  last  supplice,  as  she  called  it  to  herself,  the  tete-a-tete 
dinner  with  Nigel. 

He  was  not  yet  down,  and  she  was  just  going  to  step 
out  upon  the  terrace  when  he  came  into  the  drawing-room 
in  evening  dress.  This  was  the  first  evening  since  his  illness 
that  he  had  dressed  for  dinner,  and  the  clothes  he  wore 
seemed  to  her  a  sign  that  soon  he  would  resume  his  normal 
and  active  life.  The  look  of  illness  which  she  had  thought 
she  saw  in  his  face  that  morning  had  given  place  to  an 
expression  of  intensity  that  must  surely  be  the  token  of 
inward  excitement. 

As  he  came  in,  she  thought  to  herself  that  she  had  never 


522  BELLA  DONNA 

seen  Nigel  look  so  expressive,  that  she  had  never  imagined 
he  could  look  so  expressive.  Something  in  his  face  startled 
and  gripped  her. 

He,  too,  gazed  at  her  almost  as  if  with  new  eyes,  as  he 
came  towards  her,  looking  resolute,  like  a  man  who  had 
taken  some  big  decision  since  she  had  last  seen  him  an  hour 
ago.  All  day  he  had  seemed  curiously  watchful,  uneasy, 
sometimes  weak,  sometimes  lively  with  effort.  Now,  though 
intense,  excited,  he  looked  determined,  and  this  deter- 
anination,  too,  was  like  a  new  note  of  health. 

His  eyes  went  over  her  bare  shoulders.    Then  he  said: 

*'For  me!" 

His  voice  lingered  over  the  words.  But  his  eyes  changed 
in  expression  as  they  looked  at  her  face. 

**I  couldn't  help  it  to-night  Nigel,"  she  said,  coolly. 
**I  knew  I  must  be  looking  too  frightful  after  all  this 
journeying.    You  must  forgive  me  to-night." 

*'0f  course  I  do.  It's  good  of  you  to  take  this  trouble 
for  me,  even  though  I Come !    Dinner  is  ready. ' ' 

He  drew  her  arm  through  his,  and  led  her  in  to  the 
dining-room. 

''Where's  Ibrahim  to-night?"  she  said  carelessly,  as 
they  sat  down. 

* '  He  asked  if  he  might  go  to  the  village  to  see  his  mother, 
and  I  let  liim  go." 

*'0h!" 

She  felt  relieved.  Ibrahim  had  gone  to  fetch  the  felucca 
to  take  her  across  the  Nile.  A  hot  excitement  surged 
through  her.  In  a  couple  of  hours,  perhaps  in  less  time, 
she  would  see  Baroudi,  be  alone  with  Baroudi.  How  long 
she  had  waited!  What  torment  she  had  endured!  What 
danger,  what  failure  she  had  undergone!  But  for  a 
moment  she  forget  everything  in  that  thought  which  went 
like  wine  to  her  head,  **  To-night  I  shall  be  with  Baroudi !" 
She  did  not  just  then  go  beyond  that  thought.  She  did  not 
ask  herself  what  sort  of  reception  he  would  give  her. 
That  wine  from  the  mind  brought  a  carelessness,  almost  a 


BELLA  DONNA  523 

recklessness,  with  it,  preventing  analysis,  sweeping  away 
fears.  A  sort  of  spasm — was  it  the  very  last? — of  youth 
seemed  to  leap  up  in  her,  like  a  brilliant  flame  from  a  heap 
of  ashes.    And  she  let  the  flame  shoot  out  towards  Nigel. 

And  again  he  was  saying : 

"For  me!" 

He  was  repeating  it  to  himself,  and  he  was  reiterating 
silently  those  terrible  words  with  which  he  had  struck  the 
man  who  had  saved  him  from  death. 

' '  You  liar !    You  damnable  liar ! ' ' 

The  dinner  was  not  the  suppUce  IMrs.  Armine  had  antici 
pated.  She  talked,  she  laughed,  she  was  gay,  frivolous,  gentle, 
careless,  as  in  the  days  long  past  when  she  had  charmed 
men  by  mental  as  much  as  by  merely  physical  qualities. 
And  Nigel  responded  with  an  almost  boyish  eagerness. 
Her  liveliness,  her  merriment,  seemed  not  only  to  delight 
but  to  reassure  something  within  him.  She  noticed  that. 
And,  noticing  it,  she  was  conscious  that  with  his  decision, 
beneath  it  as  it  were,  there  was  something  else,  some  far 
different  quality,  stranger  to  her,  though  faintly  perceived, 
or  perhaps,  rather,  obscurely  divined  by  that  sleepless  intui- 
tion which  lives  in  certain  women.  Her  apparent  joyous- 
ness  gave  helping  hands  to  something  in  Nigel,  leading  it 
forward,  onward — whither  ? 

She  was  to  know  that  night. 

At  length  the  dinner  was  over,  and  they  got  up  to  go 
into  the  drawing-room.  And  now,  instantly,  Mrs.  Armine 
was  seized  by  a  frantic  longing  to  escape.  The  felucca,  she 
felt  sure,  was  waiting  on  the  still  water  just  below  the 
promontory.  If  only  Nigel  would  remain  behind  over  his 
cigarette  in  the  dining-room  for  a  moment,  she  would  steal 
out  to  see.  She  would  not  start,  of  course,  till  he  was  safely 
upstairs.    But  she  longed  to  be  sure  that  the  boat  was  there. 

*' Won't  you  have  your  cigarette  in  here?''  she  said, 
carelessly,  as  he  followed  her  towards  the  door. 

**Here?    Alone?" 

His  voice  sounded  surprised. 

*  *I  thought  perhaps  you  wanted  another  glass  of  wine," 


524  BELLA  DONNA 

she  murmured  with  a  feigned  indifference  as  she  walked  on. 

**No,'*  he  said,  "I  am  coming  to  the  terrace  with  you." 

**  For  a  little  while.  But  you  must  soon  go  to  bed.  Now 
that  Doctor  Isaacson  has  gone,  I  must  play  the'  sick  nurse 
again,  or  you  will  be  ill,  and  then  I  know  he  '11  blame  me. ' ' 

*'How  do  you  know  that?" 

The  sound  of  his  voice  startled  her.  She  was  just  by 
the  drawing-room  door.    She  stood  still  and  looked  round. 

**How?"  she  said.  **Why,  because  Doctor  Isaacson 
doesn^t  believe  in  me  in  any  capacity." 

"But  I  do." 

Again  she  noticed  the  amazing  expressiveness  of  his 
face. 

**Yes,"  she  said,  "I  know.    You  are  different." 

She  opened  the  door  and  passed  into  the  room.  Directly 
she  was  in  it  she  heard  the  Nubian  sailors  on  the  Loulia 
beginning  their  serenade.  (She  chose  to  call  it  that  to 
herself  to-night.)  Their  music  tore  at  her  heart,  at  her 
whole  nature.  She  wanted  to  rush  to  it,  now,  at  once, 
without  one  moment  of  waiting.  Hardly  could  she  force 
her  body  to  move  quietly  across  the  room  to  the  terrace. 
Nigel  came  up  and  stood  close  to  her. 

'*0h,  I  must  have  a  wrap,"  she  said. 

'^'11  fetch  it." 

'*No,  no!  You  mustn't  go  upstairs.  You'll  tire 
yourself. ' ' 

*'Not  to-night,"  he  said. 

And  he  turned  away.  Directly  the  door  shut  behind 
him  Mrs.  Armine  darted  into  the  garden. 

'  *  Ibrahim !    Ibrahim !    Are  you  there  ? ' ' 

*'Yes,  my  lady." 

He  came  up  from  the  water's  edge  and  stood  beside  her. 

**I  can't  come  yet,  but  I'll  be  as  quick  as  I  can." 

'*Yes." 

He  looked  at  her.     Then  he  said: 

*'I  dunno  what  Mahmoud  Baroudi  say  to  us.  He  got 
one  girl  on  the  board." 

'*0n  the  board!" 


BELLA  DONNA  525 


**0n  the  board  of  the  Loulia.'* 

**Ruby!    Ruby!    where  are  you?" 

**Go  back!    Wait  for  me — wait!'* 

'*Ruby!" 

*  *  I  'm  here  I    I  'm  coming,  Nigel  1 ' ' 


xuv 


She  met  him  in  the  garden,  a  little  beyond  the  terrac€o 
He  had  on  an  overcoat  and  a  soft  hat,  and  was  carrying  a 
cloak  for  her. 

**You  shouldn't  walk  out  in  the  night  air  with  bare 
arms  and  shoulders, '*  he  said,  holding  the  cloak  so  that 
she  could  easily  put  it  on. 

She  turned  her  back  on  him,  put  up  her  hands  and  so 
took  it. 

*'It's  very  warm  to-night." 

''Still,  it's  imprudent." 

'*You  playing  sick  nurse!" 

But  all  the  gaiety  had  gone  out  of  her  voice,  all  the 
liveliness  had  vanished  from  her  manner. 

''Shall  we  walk  a  little?"  he  said.  "Shall  we  go  to 
Ithe  bank  of  the  river?" 

"No,  no.  You  mustn't  tire  yourself.  Let  us  sit  down, 
and  very  soon  I  shall  send  you  to  bed." 

"Not  just  yet." 

*<I'm " 

"It  isn't  that  T  want  you  to  play.  Besides,  that  noise 
over  there  would  disturb  us.  No,  but  I  want  to  talk  to  you. 
I  must  talk  to  you  to-night." 

One  side  of  her  mouth  went  down.  But  she  turned 
her  face  quickly,  and  he  did  not  see  it.  They  came  on  to 
the  terrace  before  the  lighted  windows. 

"Sit  down  here,  Ruby — near  to  me." 

She  sat  down.  "With  the  very  madness  for  movement 
thrilling,  tingling,  through  all  her  weary  and  feverish  bodjs 
she  was  obliged  to  sit  down  quietly. 


526  BELLA  DONNA 

Nigel  sat  down  close  to  her.    There  was  a  silence. 

*'0h,"  she  said,  almost  desperately  to  break  it,  *'we 
haven 't  had  coffee  to-night.  Shall  I — would  you  like  me  to 
make  it  once  more  for  you  ? ' ' 

She  spoke  at  random.  She  wanted  to  move,  to  do  some- 
thing, anything.  She  felt  as  if  she  must  occupy  herself  in 
some  way,  or  begin  to  cry  out,  to  scream. 

* '  ShaU  I  ?    Shall  I  r '  she  repeated,  half  getting  up. 

Nigel  looked  at  her  fixedly. 

**No,  Ruby,  not  to-night." 

She  sank  back. 

**Very  weU.    But  I  thought  you  liked  my  coffee.** 

**SoIdid.    So  I  shall  again.'' 

He  put  out  his  hand  to  touch  hers. 

** Only  not  to-night." 

**Just  as  you  like.'* 

** We've — there  are  other  things  to-night.** 

He  kept  his  eyes  always  fixed  upon  hers. 

** Other  things!"  she  said.  **Yes — sleep.  You  must 
rest  well  to-night,  and  so  must  I.'* 

A  fierce  irony,  in  despite  of  herself,  broke  out  in  her 
voice  as  she  said  the  last  three  words.  It  frightened  her, 
and  she  burst  into  a  fit  of  coughing,  and  pulled  up  her  cloak 
about  her  bare  neck.  To  do  this  she  had  to  draw  away 
her  hand  from  Nigel's.    She  was  thankful  for  that. 

**I  swallowed  quantities  of  dust  and  sand  in  the  train,** 
she  said. 

Lie  held  out  his  hand  to  take  hers  again,  and  she  was 
forced  to  give  it. 

**I  shall  rest  to-night,'*  he  said.  ''Because  I've  come 
to  a  resolution.  If  I  hadn't,  if — if  I  followed  my  first 
thought,  my  first  decision,  I  know  I  should  not  be  able  to 
rest.     I  know  I  shouldn 't. " 

She  stared  at  him  in  silence. 

"Ruby,"  he  said,  "you  remember  our  first  evening 
here?" 

"Yes,"  she  forced  herself  to  say. 

Would  he  never  end?  Would  he  never  let  go  of  her 


I 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  527 

hand  ?  never  let  her  get  away  to  the  Nile,  to  that  barbarous 
music  ? 

*'I  think  we  were  getting  close  to  each  other  then. 
But — but  I  think  we  are  much  closer  now.    Don't  you?" 

*'Yes/'  she  managed  to  say. 

** Closer  because  I've  proved  you;  I've  proved  you 
through  all  this  dreadful  illness." 

His  hand  gripped  hers  more  firmly. 

**But  you,  perhaps,  haven't  proved  me  yet  as  I  havG 
proved  you." 

'*0h,  I  don't  doubt  your " 

**No,  but  I  want  you  to  know,  to  understand  me  as  I 
believe  I  understand  you.  And  that's  why  I'm  going  to 
tell  you  something,  something  very — frightful." 

There  was  a  solemnity  in  his  voice  which  held,  which 
startled  her. 

** Frightful?"  she  almost  whispered. 

**Yes.  I  didn't  mean  ever  to  tell  you.  But  somehow, 
when  you  came  back  to-day,  came  hurrying  back  to  me  so 
quickly,  without  even  doing  what  you  went  away  to  do, 
somehow  I  began  to  feel  as  if  I  must  tell  you,  as  if  I  should 
be  a  cad  not  to,  as  if  it  was  your  right  to  know." 

She  said  nothing.    She  had  no  idea  what  was  coming. 

**It  is  your  right  to  know." 

He  paused.  Now  he  was  not  looking  at  her,  but  straight 
before  him  into  the  darkness, 

**Last  night  Isaacson  and  I  were  here." 

At  the  Doctor's  name  she  moved. 

*'I  had  asked  him  to  tell  me  what  my  illness  had  been, 
what  I  had  been  suffering  from.  He  said  he  would  tell 
me.    This  was  before. ' ' 

Now  again  he  looked  at  her. 

She  formed  **Yes"  with  her  lips. 

**When  we  were  out  here  after  dinner,  I  asked  him 
again  to  tell  me.    I  had  had  your  telegram  then." 

She  nodded. 

"He  knew  you  were  coming  back  a  day  sooner  than  we 
had  expected." 


523  BELLA  DONNA 


She  nodded  again. 

*'And  he  told  me.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  what  he  said 
He  said  that  I  had  been  poisoned'* — her  hand  twitched 
beneath  his — ^**by  a  preparation  of  lead,  administered  in 
small  doses  through  a  long  period  of  time/' 

**  Poisoned!'' 

'*Yes." 

**And — and  you  believe  such  a  thing?" 

**Yes.    In  such  matters  Isaacson  knows," 

** Poisoned!"  she  repeated. 

She  said  the  word  without  the  horror  he  had  ex- 
pected, dully,  mechanically.  He  thought  perhaps  she  was 
dazed  by  surprise. 

**But  that's  not  all,"  he  said,  still  holding  her  hand 
closely.  * '  I  asked  him  who  on  board  the  Loulia  could  have 
wished  for  my  death." 

*^ That's — that's  just  what  I  was  thinking,"  she  man- 
aged to  say. 

**And  then  he  said  a  dreadful  thing." 

**Whatr' 

**He  said  that  you  had  done  it." 

She  took  her  hand  away  from  his  sharply,  and  sat  back 
in  her  chair.  He  did  not  move.  They  sat  there  looking  at 
each  other.  And  their  silence  was  disturbed  by  the  per- 
petual singing  on  the  Loulia. 

Ajid  so  it  had  been  said! 

Isaacson  had  discovered  the  exact  truth,  and  had  told 
it  to  Nigel! 

She  felt  a  reckless  relief.  As  she  sat  there,  she  seemed 
to  be  staring  not  at  Nigel  but  at  herself.  And  as  she 
stared  at  herself,  she  marvelled. 

**He  said  that  you  had  done  it,  or,  if  not  that,  had 
known  that  it  was  being  done,  had  meant  it  to  be  done." 

She  remained  silent  and  motionless.  And  now,  with  her 
thought  of  the  truth  revealed  to  her  husband  was  linked 
another  thought  of  the  girl  with  Baroudi  on  board  of  the 
Loulia. 

**Then  I  told  him  to  go,  or  I  would  put  him  out." 


BELLA  DONNA  523 

*'Ah!"  she  said. 

There  was  a  sort  of  bitter  astonishment  in  the  exclama- 
tion, and  now  in  the  eyes  regarding  him  Nigel  seemed  to 
discern  wonder. 

"And  he  went,  after  he  had  told  me  some — some  other 
things." 

Something  in  her,  in  her  face,  or  her  manner,  or  her 
deadly  silence,  broken  only  by  that  seemingly  almost  sar- 
castic cry — began  evidently  to  affect  her  husband. 

**Some  other  things,"  he  repeated. 

**What  were  they?" 

*  *  He  said  he  had  come  out  from  England  because  he  had 
suspected  something  was  wrong.  He  told  me  that  he  met 
you  by  chance  in  the  temple  of  Edfou,  that  you  seemed  ter- 
rified at  seeing  him,  that  it  was  not  you  w^ho  asked  him  to 
come  to  the  Loulia  to  see  me,  but  that,  on  the  contrary, 
he  asked  to  come  and  you  refused  to  let  him.  He  said  you 
even  sent  him  a  letter  telling  him  not  to  come.  He  gave 
me  that  letter.    Here  it  is.    I  have  not  read  it." 

He  put  his  hand  into  his  coat  and  drew  out  the  letter, 
and  with  it  the  gilded  box  which  Baroudi  had  given  to  her 
in  the  orange  garden. 

** There  is  the  letter." 

He  laid  it  on  the  table. 

*'I  found  this  in  your  room  when  I  went  for  the  cloak/' 
he  said,  **full  of  Eastern  things  for  the  face." 

His  eyes  were  a  question. 

*'I  bought  it  in  Cairo  yesterday." 

He  laid  it  down. 

*'In  spite  of  that  letter — Isaacson  said — ^he  did  come 
that  night,  and  he  overheard  us  talking  on  the  balcony,  and 
heard  me  say  how  I  wished  he  were  in  Egypt." 

He  stopped  again.  His  own  narrative  seemed  to  be 
waking  up  something  in  his  mind. 

'  'Why  didn't  you  tell  me  then  that  you  knew  he  was  in 
Egypt?"  he  asked. 

She  merely  raised  her  eyebrows.  Within  her  now  the 
recklessness  was  increasing.  With  it  was  blent  a  strange 
and  powerful  sensation  of  fatalism. 


530  BELLA  DONNA 

"Was  it  because  you  hated  Isaacson  so  much?" 

**That  was  it." 

*'But  then — but  then,  when  he  was  with  me,  you  said 
that  you  had  brought  him.  You  said  that  in  the  temple 
you  had  begged  him  to  come.    I  remember  that  quite  well." 

* '  Do  you  ? ' '  she  said. 

And  fate  seemed  to  her  to  be  moving  her  lips,  to  be 
forming  for  her  each  vord  she  said. 

* '  Yes.    Why  was  that  ?    Why  did  you  say  that  ? ' ' 

** Don't  remember!" 

''You  don't ?" 

He  got  up  slowly  out  of  his  chair. 

**But  the — the  strangest  thing  Isaacson  said  was  this." 

He  put  one  hand  on  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  leaned 
down  a  little  towards  her. 

*'He  said  that  at  last  he  forced  you  to  let  him  attend 
me  as  a  doctor  by — by  threatening  you. '  * 

**0h!" 

''By  threatening,  if  you  would  not,  to  call  in  the  police 
authorities. ' ' 

She  said  nothing.  All  he  was  saying  flowed  past  her 
like  running  water.  No  more  than  running  water  did  it 
mean  to  her.  Apparently  she  had  fought  and  struggled  too 
long,  and  the  revenge  of  nature  upon  her  was  this  terrible 
indifference  following  upon  so  much  of  terror,  of  strife,  of 
enforced  and  desperate  patience. 

'*Euby!" 


"Ruby!" 

"Well?"    She  looked  at  him.    "What  is  it?" 

"You  don't  say  anything!" 

"Why  should  I?    What  do  you  want  me  to  say?" 

"Want!     I— but " 

He  bent  down. 

"You — ^you    don't    think — you    aren't    thinking    that 

I ?" 

"WeU?" 


BELLA  DONNA  531 

*'IVe  told  you  this  to  prove  my  complete  trust  in 
you.  I've  only  told  you  so  that  there  may  be  nothing 
between  us,  no  shadow;  as  even  such  a  thing,  hidden, 
might  be." 

''Ah!'' 

' '  And  if  there  are  things  I  don 't  understand,  I  know — 
they  are  such  trifles  in  comparison — I  know  you'll  explain. 
Won't  you?" 

*'Not  to-night.     I  can't  explain  things  to-night." 

*'No.    You're  tired  out.     To-morrow — to-morrow  I" 

**Ah!"  she  said  again. 

He  leant  right  down  to  her,  and  took  both  her  hands. 

*'Come  upstairs  with  me!  Come!'*  She  stood  up. 
**Come!    I'll  prove  to  you — I'll  prove  to  you " 

There  was  a  sort  of  desperation  of  crude  passion  in  his 
manner. 

He  tried  to  draw  her  towards  the  house.  She  resisted 
him. 

"Ruby!'* 

*'I'm  not  coming." 

He  stopped. 

*  *  Ruby ! "  he  said  again,  but  with  a  different  voice. 

"I'm  not  coming!" 

His  hands  grew  cold  on  hers.  He  let  her  hands  go. 
They  dropped  to  her  sides. 

"So  you  didn't  believe  what  Isaacson  told  you?"  she 
said. 

Her  only  thought  was,  "I'Umake  him  give  me  my  lib- 
erty! I'll  make  him  give  me  my  liberty,  so  that  Baroudi 
must  keep  me!" 

"What?"  he  said. 

"You  didn't  believe  what  Isaacson  told  you?"  she 
repeated. 

* '  Believe  it !    I  turned  him  out !  *  * 

"You  fool!"  she  said. 

She  moved  a  step  nearer  to  him. 

* '  You  fool ! "  she  repeated.    "  It 's  true ! ' ' 

She  snatched  up  the  gilded  box  from  the  table.  He  tore 
it  out  of  her  hands. 


632  BELLA  DONNA 

**Who — who ?"  he  whispered,  with  lips  that  had 

gone  white. 

''Mahmoud  Baroudi/'  she  said. 

The  box  fell  from  his  hands  to  the  terrace,  scattering 
the  aids  to  her  beauty,  which  he  had  always  hated. 

She  turned,  pulled  her  cloak  closely  round  her,  and 
hurried  to  the  bank  of  the  Nile. 

*' Ibrahim!    Ibrahim!" 

''My  lady!" 

He  came,  striding  up  the  bank. 

*  *  Take  my  hand !    Help  me !    Quickly ! ' ' 

She  almost  threw  herself  down  the  bank. 

** Where  is  the  boat— ah!" 

She  stumbled  as  she  got  into  it,  and  nearly  fell. 

*'Push  off!" 

She  sat  straight  up  on  the  hard,  narrow  bench,  and 
stared  at  the  lights  on  the  Loulia. 

*' There's  a  girl  on  board,"  she  said,  in  a  minute. 

**Yes,  my  lady,  one  girl.  Whether  Mahmoud  Baroudi 
likin'  we  comin'  I  dunno." 

*' Ibrahim!" 

''My  lady!" 

"Directly  I  go  on  board  the  Loulia,  you  are  to  go. 
Take  the  boat  straight  back  to  Luxor." 

"I  leavin'  you?" 

He  looked  relieved. 

"Yes.    I'll — I'll  come  back  in  Baroudi 's  felucca." 

"I  quite  well  stayin',  waitin'  till  you  ready." 

* '  No,  no.  I  don 't  wish  that.  Promise  me  you  will  take 
the  boat  away  at  once." 

"All  what  you  want  you  must  have,"  he  murmured. 

"How  loudly  the  sailors  are  singing!"  she  said. 

Now  they  were  drawing  near  to  the  Loulia.  Mrs. 
Armine,  with  fierce  eyes,  gazed  at  the  lighted  cabin  windows, 
at  the  upper  deck,  at  the  balcony  in  the  stem  where  so  often 
she  had  sat  with  Nigel.  She  was  on  fire  with  eagerness; 
she  was  the  prey  of  an  excitement  that  made  her  forget  all 
her  bodily  fatigue,  forget  everything  except  that  at  last 


I 


BELLA  DONNA  533 

she  was  close  to  Baroudi.  Already  her  husband  had  ceased 
to  exist  for  her.  He  was  gone  for  ever  with  the  past.  Not 
only  the  river  but  a  great  gulf,  never  to  be  bridged,  divided 
them. 

* '  Baroudi !    Baroudi !    Baroudi ! ' ' 

She  could  belong  to  Baroudi  openly  at  last.  In  this 
moment  she  even  forgot  herself,  forgot  to  think  of  her 
appearance.  Within  her  there  was  a  woman  who  could 
genuinely  feel    And  that  woman  asserted  herself  now. 

The  boat  touched  the  Loulia's  side.  A  Nubian  appeared. 
The  singing  on  board  abruptly  ceased.  Mrs.  Armine 
quickly  stood  up  in  the  boat. 

**Go  to  Luxor,  Ibrahim!    Go  at  once!" 

*'I  goin'  quick,  my  lady.'* 

She  sprang  on  board  and  stood  to  see  him  go.  Only 
when  the  boat  had  diminished  upon  the  dark  water  did 
she  turn  round.    She  was  face  to  face  with  Hamza. 

**Hamza!"  she  said,  startled. 

His  almond-shaped  eyes  regarded  her,  and  she  thought 
a  menace  was  in  them.  Even  in  the  midst  of  her  fiery 
excitement  she  felt  a  touch  of  something  that  was  cold  as 
fear  is  cold. 

''Yes,"  he  said. 

*'I  must  see  Mahmoud  Baroudi." 

He  did  not  move.  His  expression  did  not  change.  The 
Nubians,  squatting  in  a  circle  on  the  deck  a  little  way  off, 
looked  at  her  calmly,  almost  as  animals  look  at  something 
they  have  very  often  seen. 

' '  Where  is  he  ? "  she  said.    * '  Where  is  he  ?  " 

And  abruptly  she  went  down  the  steps,  under  the 
golden  letters,  and  into  the  first  saloon.  It  was  lit  up,  but 
no  one  was  there.  She  hurried  on  down  the  passage,  pulled 
aside  the  orange-coloured  curtain,  and  came  into  the  room 
of  the  faskeeyeh. 

On  the  divan,  dressed  in  native  costume,  with  the  turban 
and  djelab,  Baroudi  was  sitting  on  his  haunches  with  his 
legs  tucked  under  him,  smoking  hashish  and  gazing  at  the 
gilded  ball  as  it  rose  and  fell  on  the  water.    A  little  way 


534  BELLA  DONNA 

off,  supported  by  many  cushions,  an  Eastern  girl  was  lying. 
She  looked  very  young,  perhaps  sixteen  or  seventeen.  But 
her  face  was  painted,  her  eyes  were  bordered  with  kohl, 
and  the  nails  of  her  fingers  and  of  her  bare  toes  were  tinted 
with  the  henna.  She  wore  the  shintiyan,  and  a  tob,  or 
kind  of  shirt  of  coloured  and  spangled  gauze.  On  her  pale 
brown  arms  there  were  quantities  of  narrow  bracelets. 
She,  too,  was  smoking  a  little  pipe  with  a  mouthpiece  of 
coral. 

Mrs.  Armine  stood  still  in  the  doorway.  She  looked  at 
the  girl,  and  now,  immediately,  she  thought  of  her  own 
appearance,  with  something  like  terror. 

' '  Baroudi ! "  she  said.    *  *  Baroudi ! ' ' 

He  stared  at  her  face. 

"When  she  saw  that,  with  trembling  fingers  she  unfas- 
tened her  cloak  and  let  it  fall  on  the  floor. 

** Baroudi !'*  she  repeated. 

But  Baroudi  still  stared  at  her  face. 

With  one  hand  he  held  the  long  stem  of  his  pipe,  but 
he  had  stopped  smoking. 

At  once  she  felt  despair. 

But  she  came  on  into  the  middle  of  the  saloon. 

**Send  her  away!"  she  said.     ''Send  her  away!** 

She  spoke  in  French.    And  he  answered  in  French: 

*'Whyr' 

'  *  I  've  left  my  husband.  I  Ve  left  the  villa.  I  can  never 
go  back." 

**Why  not?"  he  said,  still  gazing  at  her  face. 

He  threw  back  his  head,  and  his  great  throat  showed 
among  the  folds  of  muslin  that  swept  down  to  his  mighty 
chest. 

*'He  knows!" 

' '  Knows !    Who  has  told  him  ? ' ' 

''I  have!" 

As  he  looked  at  her,  she  grew  quite  cold,  as  if  she  had 
been  plunged  into  icy  water. 

*'You  have  told  him  about  me?"  he  said. 

*'Not  all  about  you!    But  he  knows  that — that  I  made 


BELLA  DONNA  535 

him  ill,  that  I  wished  him  to  die.  I  told  him,  because  I 
wanted  to  get  away.  I  had  to  get  away — and  be  with 
you    .     .     .'' 

The  bracelets  on  the  arms  of  the  Eastern  girl  jingled  as 
she  moved  behind  Mrs.  Armine. 

*'Send  her  away!  Send  her  away!''  Mrs.  Armine 
repeated. 

*'Hamza!" 

Baroudi  called,  but  not  loudly.  Hamza  came  in  at  the 
door. 

Baroudi  spoke  to  him  quickly  in  Arabic.  A  torrent  of 
words  that  sounded  angry,  as  Arabic  words  do  to  those 
from  the  Western  world,  rushed  out  of  his  throat.  What 
did  they  mean?  Mrs.  Armine  did  not  know.  But  she  did 
know  that  her  fate  was  in  them. 

Hamza  said  nothing,  only  made  her  a  sign  to  follow 
him. 

But  she  stood  still. 

"Baroudi!"  she  said. 

"Go  with' Hamza,"  he  said,  in  French. 

And  she  went,  without  another  word,  past  the  girl,  and 
out  of  the  room. 

Hamza,  with  a  sign,  told  her  to  go  in  front  of  him. 
She  went  slowly  down  the  passage,  into  the  first  saloon. 
There  she  hesitated,  looked  back.  Hamza  signed  to  her  to 
go  on.  She  passed  under  the  Loulia's  motto — for  the  last 
time.    On  the  sailors'  deck  she  paused. 

The  small  felucca  of  the  Loulia  was  alongside.  Hamza 
took  her  by  the  arm.  Although  his  hand  was  small  and 
delicate,  it  seemed  to  her  then  a  thing  of  iron  that  could  not 
be  resisted.  She  got  into  the  boat.  Where  was  she  going 
to  be  taken  ?  It  occurred  to  her  now  that  perhaps  Baroudi 
had  some  plan,  that  he  did  not  choose  to  keep  her  on  board, 
that  he  had  a  house  at  Luxor,  or • 

The  Villa  Nuit  d'Or!  Was  Hamza  going  to  take  her 
there  in  the  night  ? 

Hamza  sat  down,  took  the  oars,  pushed  off. 

Yes,  he  was  rowing  up  stream  against  the  tide!     A 


536  BELLA  DONNA 

wild  hope  sprang  up  in  her.  The  Loulia  diminished. 
Always  Hamza  was  rowing  against  the  tide,  but  she  noticed 
that  the  felucca  was  drifting  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
Nile.  The  current  was  very  strong.  They  were  making 
little  or  no  headway.  She  longed  to  seize  an  oar,  to  help 
the  boat  up  stream.  Now  the  eastern  bank  of  the  river 
grew  more  distinct,  looming  out  of  the  darkness.  It  seemed 
to  be  approaching  them,  coming  stealthily  nearer  and 
nearer.     She  saw  the  lights  in  the  Villa  Androud. 

*'IIamza!"  she  murmured.     ** Hamza!" 

He  rowed  on,  without  much  force,  almost  languidly. 
Never  could  they  go  up  against  the  tide  if  he  did  not  pull 
more  strongly.  Why  had  they  not  two  of  the  Nubians 
with  them?  The  lights  of  the  villa  vanished.  They  were 
hidden  by  the  high  and  shelving  bank. 

** Hamza!"  she  cried  out.    '* Hamza!" 

There  was  a  slight  shock.  The  felucca  had  touched 
bottom.  Hamza,  with  a  sort  of  precision  characteristic  of 
him,  stepped  quietly  ashore  and  signed  to  her  to  come. 

She  knew  she  would  not  go.    And,  instantly,  she  went. 

Directly  she  stood  upon  the  sand,  near  the  tangle  of 
low  bushes,  Hamza  pushed  off  the  felucca,  springing  into 
it  as  he  did  so,  and  rowed  away  on  the  dark  water. 

* '  Hamza ! ' '  she  called. 

*' Hamza  I    Hamza!"  she  shrieked. 

The  boat  went  on  steadily,  quickly,  and  disappeared. 


Nearly  an  hour  later  there  appeared  at  the  edge  of  the 
garden  of  the  Villa  Androud  a  woman  walking  unsteadily., 
with  a  sort  of  frantic  slowness.  She  made  her  way  across 
the  garden  and  drew  near  to  the  terrace,  beyond  which 
light  shone  out  from  the  drawing-room  through  the  tall 
window  space.  Close  to  the  terrace  she  stood  still,  and  she 
looked  into  the  room. 

She  saw  Nigel  sitting  crouched  upon  a  sofa,  with  his 
elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  face  in  his  hands.  He  was 
alone,  and  was  sitting  quite  still. 


BELLA  DONNA  537 

She  stood  for  some  time  staring  in  at  him.  Then  at 
last,  as  if  making  up  her  mind  to  something,  she  moved, 
and  slowly  she  stepped  upon  the  terrace. 

Just  as  she  did  this,  the  door  of  the  drawing-room 
opened  and  Ibrahim  came  in,  looking  breathless  and  scared. 
Behind  him  came  Meyer  Isaacson. 

The  woman  stood  still  on  the  terrace. 

Ibrahim  remained  by  the  door.  Nigel  never  moved. 
Meyer  Isaacson  came  quickly  forward  into  the  room  as  if 
he  were  going  to  Nigel.  But  when  he  was  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  something  seemed  to  startle  him.  He  stopped 
abruptly,  looked  questioningly  towards  the  window,  then 
came  out  to  the  terrace.  On  the  threshold  he  stopped 
again.  He  had  seen  the  woman.  He  looked  for  a  moment 
at  her,  and  she  at  him.  Then  he  came  forward,  put  out  his 
hands  quickly,  unlatched  the  wooden  shutters,  which  were 
set  back  against  the  house  wall,  and  pulled  them  inward 
towards  him.  They  met  with  a  clang,  blotting  out  the 
room  from  the  woman  *s  eyes. 

Then  she  waited  no  longer.  She  made  her  way  to  the 
gate  of  the  garden,  passed  out  to  the  deserted  track  beyond, 
and  disappeared  into  the  darkness,  going  blindly  towards 
the  distant  hills  that  keep  the  Arabian  desert. 


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Bambi.    By  Marjorie  Benton  Cooke. 

Barbarians.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers'. 

Bar  20.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford.  V.. 

Bar  20  Dajrs.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Barrier,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Bars  of  Iron,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Beasts  of  Tarzan,  The.    By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Beckoning  Roads.    By  Jeanne  Judson. 

Belonging.     By  Olive  Wadsley. 

Beloved  Traitor,  The.     By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Beloved  Vagabond,  The.     By  Wm.  J.  Locke. 

Beltane  the  Smith.     Bv  Jeffery  Farnol.  .  , 

Betrayal,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Beulah.    (111.  Ed.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans, 


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Beyond  the  Frontier.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Big  Timber.    By  Bertrand  W.  Sinclair. 

Black  Bartlemy's  Treasure.     By  Jeffery  Farnot, 

Black  Is  White.     By  George  Barr  MdCutcheon. 

Blacksheep!    Blacksheep!.    By  Meredith  Nicholson. 

Blind  Man's  Eyes,  The.     By   Wm.   Mac   Harg   and   Edwin 

Balmer. 
Boardwalk,  The.     By  Margaret  Widdemer. 
Bob  Hampton  of  Placer.    By  Randall  Parrish. 
Bob,  Son  of  Battle.    By  Alfred  Olivant. 
Box  With  Broken  Seals,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppcnheim. 
Boy  With  Wings,  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 
Brandon  of  the  Engineers.    By  Harold  Bindlos.*^. 
Bridge  of  Kisses,  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 
Broad  Highway,  The.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 
Broadway  Bab.     By  Johnston  McCulley. 
Brown  Study,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Bruce  of  the  Circle  A.     By  Harold  Titus. 
{Buccaneer  Farmer,  The.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Buck  Peters,  Ranchmani     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
BuUders,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 
Business  of  Life,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Cab  of  the  Sleeping  Horee,  The.    By  John  Reed  Scott 

Cabbage  and  Kings.    By  O.  Henry. 

Cabin  Fever.    By  B.  M.  Bower. 

Calling  of  Dan  Matthews,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright, 

Cape  Cod  Stories.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Abe,  Storekeeper.    By  James  A.  Cooper. 

Cap'n  Dan's  Daughter.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap*n  ErI.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Ccp'n  Jonah's  Fortune.    By  James  A.  Cooper. 

Cap'n  Warren's  Wards.    By  JToseph  'C.  Lincoln. 

Chinese  Label,  The.    By  J.  Frank  Davis. 

Christine  of  the  Young  Heart.  By  Louise  Breintenbach  Clancy. 

Cinderella  Jane.    By  Marjorie  B.  Cooke. 

Cinema  Murder,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

City  of  Masks.  The.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Clcck  of  Scotland  Yard.    By  T.  W.  Hanshew. 


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Cleek,  The  Man  of  Forty  Faces.    By  Thomas  W.  Hanshew. 

Cleek*s  Government  Cases.     By  Thomas  W.  Hanshew. 

Clipped  Wings.    By  Rupert  Hughes. 

Clutch  of  Circumstance,  The.    By  Marjorie  Benton  Cooke. 

Coast  of  Adventure,  The.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Come-Back,  The.    By  Carolyn  Wells. 

Coming  of  Cassidy,  The.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Coming  of  the  Law,  The.     By  Charles  A.  Seltzer. 

Comrades  of  Peril.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Conquest  of  Canaan,  The.     By  Booth  Tarkington. 

Conspirators,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Contraband.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Cottage  of  Delight,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Court  of  Inquiry,  A.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Cricket,  The.     By  Marjorie  Benton  Cooke. 

Crimson  Gardenia,  The,  and  Other  Tales  of  Adventure.    By 

Rex  Beach, 
Crimson  Tide,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Cross  Currents.     By  Author  of  "Pollyanna." 
Cross  Pull,  The.     By  Hal.  G.  Evarts. 
Cry  in  the  Wilderness,  A.    By  Mary  E.  Waller. 
Cry  of  Youth,  A.     By  Cynthia  Lombardi. 
Cup  of  Fury,  The.    By  Rupeit  Hughes. 
Curious  Quest,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Danger  and  Other  Stories.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Dark  Hollow,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Dark  Star,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Daughter  Pays,  The.     By  Mrs.  Baillie  Reynolds. 
Day  of  Days,  The.     By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Depot  Master,  The.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Destroying  Angel,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Devil's  Own,  The.     By  Randall  Parrish. 
Devil's  Paw,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Disturbing  Charm,  The.     By  Berta  Ruck. 
Door  of  Dread,  The.    By  Arthur  Stringer. 
Dope.    By  Sax  Rohmer. 

Double  Traitor,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Duds.    By  Henry  C.  Rowland. 


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Empty  Pockets.    By  Rupert  Hughes. 
Erskine  Dale  Pioneer.    By  John  Fox,  Jr. 
Everyman's  Land.    By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Extricating  Obadiah.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Eyes  of  the  Blind,  The.    By  Arthur  Somers  Roche. 
Eyes  of  the  World,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright 

Fairfax  and  His  Pride.    By  Marie  Van  Vorst. 

Felix  O'Day.    By  F.  Hopkinson  Smith. 

54-40  or  Fight.     By  Emerson  Hough. 

Fighting  Chance,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chamber^. 

Fighting  Fool,  The.    By  Dane  Coolidge. 

Fighting  Shepherdess,  The.    By  Caroline  Lockhart. 

Financier,  The.     By  Theodore  Dreiser. 

Find  the  Woman,    By  Arthur  Somers  Roche. 

First  Sir  Percy,  The.    By  The  Baroness  Orczy, 

Flame,  The.    By  Olive  Wadsley. 

For  Better,  for  Worse.    By  W.  B.  Maxwell. 

Forbidden  Trail,  The.    By  Honore  Willsie. 

Forfeit,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Fortieth  Door,  The.    By  Mary  Hastings  Bradley- 

Four  Million,  The.    By  O.  Henry. 

From  Now  On.    By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Fur  Bringers,  The.    By  Hulbert  Footner. 

Further  Adventures  of  Jimmie  Dale.    By  Frank  L.  Packard 

Gef  Your  Man.    By  Ethel  and  James  Dorrance. 

Girl  in  the  Mirror,  The.    By  Elizabeth  Jordan. 

Girl  of  O.  K.  Valley,  The.    By  Robert  Watson. 

Girl  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  A.  By  Payne  Erskine. 
.Girl  from  Keller's,  The.  By  Harold  Bindloss. 
^Girl  Philippa,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Girls  at  His  Billet,  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

Glory  Rides  the  Range.    By  Ethel  and  James  Borrance. 

Gloved  Hand,  The.    By  Burton  E.  Stevenson. 

God's  Country  and  the  Woman.    By  James  Oliver  Curwood 

God*s  Good  Man.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Going  Some.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Gold  Girl,  The.    By  James  B.  Hendryx. 

Golden  Scorpion,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmer, 


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Golden  Slipper,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Golden  Woman,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Good  References.    By  E.  J.  Rath. 

Gorgeous  Girl,  The.     By  Nalbro  Bartley. 

Gray  Angels,  The.     By  Nalbro  Bartley. 

Great  Impersonation,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man.     By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Green  Eyes  of  Bast,  The.     By  Sax  Rohmer. 

Greyfriars  Bobby.     By  Eleanor  Atkinson. 

Gun  Brand,  The.     By  James  B.  Hendryx. 

Hand  of  Fu-Manchu,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmer. 

Happy  House.     By  Baroness  Von  Hutten. 

Harbor  Road,  The.     By  Sara  Ware  Bassett. 

Havoc.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Heart  of  the  Desert,  The.    By  Honore  Willsie. 

Heart  of  the  Hills,  The.     By  John  Fox,  Jr. 

Heart  of  the  Sunset.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Heart  of  Thunder  Mountain,  The.    By  Edfrid  A.  Bingham. 

Heart  of  Unaga,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Hidden  Children,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Hidden  Trails.    By  William  Patterson  White. 

Highflyers,  The.    By  Clarence  B.  Kelland. 

Hillman,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Hills  of  Refuge,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

His  Last  Bow.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

His  Official  Fiancee.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

Honor  of  the  Big  Snows.    By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Hopalong  Cassidy.      By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Hound  from  the  North,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

House  of  the  Whispering  Pines,  The.     By  Anna  Katharine 

Green. 
Hugh  Wynne,  Free  Quaker.    By  S.  Weir  Mitchell,  M.D. 
Humoresque.     By  Fannie  Hurst. 

I  Conquered.    By  Harold  Titus. 
Illustrious  Prince,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
In  Another  Girl's  Shoes.     By  Berta  Ruck. 
Indifference  of  Juliet,  The.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Inez.    (IlL  Ed.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 


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Infelice.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Initials  Only.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Inner  Law,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Innocent.     By  Marie  Corelli. 

In  Red  and  Gold.    By  Samuel  Merwin. 

Insidious  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmer, 

In  the  Brooding  Wild.    By  Ridgwell  CuUum. 

Intriguers,  The.     By  William  Le  Queux. 

Iron  Furrow,  The.    By  George  C.  Shedd. 

Iron  Trail,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Iron  Woman,  The.    By  Margaret  Deiland. 

IshmaeL  (111.)     By  Mrs.  Southworth. 

Island  of  Surprise.    By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

I  Spy.    By  Natalie  Sumner  Linclon. 

'It  Pays  to  Smile.     By  Nina  Wilcox  Putnam. 

I've  Married  Marjarie.    By  Margaret  Widdemer. 

Jean  of  the  Lazy  A.    By  B.  M.  Bower. 

Jeanne  of  the  Marshes.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Jennie  Gerhardt.    By  Theodore  Dreiser. 

Johnny  Nelson.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Judgment  House,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Keeper  of  the  Door,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Keith  of  the  Border.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Kent  Knowles:  Quahaug.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Kingdom  of  the  Blind,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim* 

King  Spruce.     By  Holman  Day. 

Knave  of  Diamonds,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

La  Chance  Mine  Mystery,  The.    By  S.  Carleton. 
Lady  Doc,  The.    By  Caroline  Lockhart. 
Land-Girl's  Love  Story,  A.    By  Berta  Ruck. 
Land  of  Strong  Men,  The.    Bv  A.  M.  Chisholm. 
Last  Straw,  The.    By  Harold  Titus. 
Last  Trail,  The.    By  Zane  Grey. 
Laughing  Bin  Hvde.    By  Rex  Bench. 
Laughing  Girl,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Law  Breakers,  The.     By  Ridgwell   Cullum. 
Law  of  the  Gun,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 


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NOV    6     1935 


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:EiU  11955  LU 


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IB  32929 


698909 


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